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By   Miss   Anna    Warner. 

THE   BLUE   FLAG   AND   THE  CLOTH   OF   GOLD 

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ROBERT  CARTER  AND   BROTHERS, 
NEW  YORK. 


.THE 


END  OF  A  Coi  L 


BY  THE  AUTHOR   OF 

"THE  WIDE,  WIDE  WORLD." 


'Well  begun  is  half  done.'1 


NEW  YORK: 
ROBERT  CARTER  AND  BROTHERS, 

530  BROADWAY. 
i860. 


Copyright,  1880, 
BY  ROBERT  CARTER  &  BROTHERS. 


CAMBR.DGE:  ST.   JOHNLAND 

PRESS    OF  STEREOTYPE    FOUNDRY, 


JOHN   WIWON    AND   SON. 


SUFFOLK 


315$ 


NOTE. 


As  in  the  case  of  "My  Desire,"  the  turning  facts 
of  this  story  are  fact;  even  to  the  most  romantic  and 
unlikely  detail.  In  this  is  found,  I  hope,  my  jus- 
tification for  making  the  hero  in  one  place  repeat 
something  very  like  what  was  said  by  the  hero  of 
"Queechy"  on  a  like  occasion.  I  was  unwilling  to 
disturb  the  absolute  truth  of  the  story,  so  far  as  I 
had  it. 

MART-LAKE'S  ROCK, 
May,  1880. 


1702005 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP.  .  PAGB 

i.  DOLLY'S  ARRIVAL 7 

II.    CHRISTINA   AND    HER   MOTHER          ...  24 

III.    THE    MARINE   DICTIONARY  .  .  .  .45 

iv.  THE  "ACHILLES" 55 

V.  THE  PIECE  OF  ROPE 73 

VI.  END  OF  SCHOOL  TERM      ....  84 

VII.  PLAYTHINGS 92 

VIIL  LONDON 102 

IX.  THE  PEACOCKS 1 13 

X.  BRIERLEY  COTTAGE 133 

XL  IN  THE  PARK 146 

XII.  THE  HOUSE 167 

XIII.  MONEY               . l8l 

XIV.  DIFFICULTIES 2O$ 

xv.  THE  CONSUL'S  OFFICE     .         .         .         t         .223 

XVI.  A  FIGHT 238 

XVII.  RUPERT 26l 

XVIII.  A   SQUARE    PARTY 28 1 

XIX.  SEEING   SIGHTS 306 

XX.  LIMBURG    ....;..  336 

XXI.  VENICE 354 

XXII.  MR.    COPLEY 379 

XXIII.  THE   WINE   SHOP 405 

XXIV.  PAST   GREATNESS 425 


viii  CONTENTS. 

CHAP.  PACK 

XXV.    CHRISTMAS   EVE 444 

XXVI.    NAPLES 473 

XXVII.    SORRENTO 494 

XXVIII.    AT  THE   VILLA 512 

XXIX.    WHITHER   NOW?     . .  537 

XXX.    DOWN   HILL        ,'     '' '  .  "    '    .'  *        .            .             .  558 
XXXI.    HANDS   FULL            .            .            .            .            .             .583 

XXXII.    THE   NURSE 607 

XXXIII.  UNDER   AN   OAK   TREE 627 

XXXIV.  HOW   IT   WAS   SETTLED           .            .            .             .  65! 
XXXV.    WAYS    AND   MEANS             V          T  '      .     '       i  -         .  674 

XXXVI.    THIS    PICTURE   AND   THAT    ....  700 


THE    END   OF  A  COIL. 


CHAPTER    I. 

DOLLY'S    ARRIVAL. 

THE  door  stands  open  of  a  handsome  house  in 
Walnut  Street,  the  Walnut  Street  which 
belongs  to  the  city  of  William  Penn;  and  on  the 
threshold  stands  a  lady,  with  her  hand  up  to  her 
brows,  shielding  her  eyes  from  the  light.  She  is 
watching  to  see  what  will  come  out  of  a  carriage 
just  driving  up  to  the  curb  stone.  The  carriage 
stops;  there  descends  first  the  figure  of  a  hand- 
some, very  comfortable  looking  gentleman.  Mrs. 
Eberstein's  eyes  pass  over  him  very  cursorily;  she 
has  seen  him  before ;  and  there  is  hardly  a  curl  on 
his  handsome  head  which  his  wife  does  not  know 
by  heart.  What  comes  next?  Ah,  that  is  she! 
the  figure  of  the  expected  one;  and  a  little  girl 
of  some  eleven  years  is  helped  carefully  out  by. 
Mr.  Eberstein,  and  comes  up  the  steps  to  the  wait- 
ing and  watching  lady.  A  delicate  little  thing, 
delicate  in  frame  and  feature  alike,  with  a  fair, 
childish  face,  framed  in  by  loose  light  brown  curls, 
and  a  pair  of  those  clear,  grave,  wise,  light  hazel 
eyes  which  have  the  power  of  looking  so  young 


8  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

and  so  spiritually  old  at  once.  Those  eyes  are  the 
first  thing  that  Mrs.  Eberstein  sees,  and  they  fasci- 
nate her  already.  Meanwhile  kind  arms  are  opened 
wide  and  take  the  little  one  in. 

"  Come  at  last,  darling !  And  do  you  remember 
your  Aunt  Hal  ?  and  are  you  half  as  glad  to  see 
her  as  she  is  to  see  you?"  So  Mrs.  Eberstein 
gives  her  greeting,  while  she  is  drawing  the  child 
through  the  hall  and  into  the  parlour;  gives  it 
between  kisses. 

"Why  no,"  said  her  husband  who  had  fol- 
lowed. "Be  reasonable,  Harry.  She  cannot  be 
so  glad  to  see  you  as  we  are  to  see  her.  She  has 
just  come  from  a  long  stage  coach  journey;  and 
she  is  tired,  and  she  is  hungry;  and  she  has  left 
a  world  she  knows,  and  has  come  to  a  world  she 
doesn't  know;  hey,  Dolly?  isn't  it  true?  Tell 
your  Aunt  Hal  to  stop  asking  questions  and  give 
you  something  to  eat." 

"  I  have  come  to  a  world  I  don't  know," — re- 
peated the  little  girl  by  way  of  answer,  turning 
her  serious  small  face  to  her  questioner,  while  Mrs. 
Eberstein  was  busily  taking  off  coat  and  hat  and 
mufflers. 

"Yes,  that's  what  I  say,"  returned  Mr.  Eber- 
stein. "  How  do  you  like  the  look  of  it,  hey  ?  " 

"I  wonder  who  is  asking  questions  now!"  said 
Mrs.  Eberstein.  "  There,  darling !  now  you  are 
at  home." 

She  finished  with  another  kiss;  but  nevertheless 
I  think  the  feeling  that  it  was  a  strange  world 


DOLLY'S  ARRIVAL.  9 

she  had  come  to,  was  rather  prominent  in  Dolly. 
She  suddenly  stooped  to  a  great  Maltese  cat  that 
was  lying  on  the  hearthrug,  and  I  am  afraid  the 
eyes  were  glad  of  an  excuse  to  get  out  of  sight. 
She  touched  the  cat's  fur  tenderly  and  somewhat 
diligently. 

"  She  won't  hurt  you,"  said  her  aunt.  "  That  is 
Mr.  Eberstein's  pet.  Her  name  is  Queen  Mab." 

"  She  don't  look  much  like  a  fairy," — was  Dolly's 
comment.  Indeed  Queen  Mab  would  outweigh 
most  of  her  race  and' was  a  magnificent  specimen 
of  good  feeding. 

"Fow  do," — thought  Mrs.  Eberstein.  Aloud  she 
asked :  "  What  do  you  know  about  fairies  ?  " 

"01  know  they  are  only  stories.  I  have  read 
about  them." 

"  Fairy  tales,  eh  ?  " 

"No,  not  much  fairy  tales,"  said  Dolly,  now  ris- 
ing up  from  the  cat.  "  I  have  read  about  them  in 
'  Midsummer  Night's  Dream.' " 

" '  Midsummer  Night's  Dream,'  you  midget !  " 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Eberstein.  "  Have  you  read  that  ? 
And  everything  else  you  could  lay  hands  on  ?  " 

She  took  the  child  in  her  arms  again  as  she 
spoke.  Dolly  gave  a  quiet  assent. 

"And  they  let  you  do  just  what  you  like  at 
home  ?  and  read  just  what  you  like  ?  " 

Dolly  smiled  slightly,  at  the  obviousness  of  the 
course  of  action  referred  to ;  but  the  next  minute 
the  smile  was  quenched  in  a  mist  of  tears  and  she 
hid  her  head  on  Mrs.  Eberstein's  shoulder.  Kisses 


10  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

and  caresses  of  course  followed,  not  successfully. 
At  last  Mr.  Eberstein's  repeated  suggestion  that 
food,  in  the  circumstances,  would  be  very  much 
in  place,  was  acted  upon.  Supper  was  served  in 
the  next  room,  which  did  duty  for  a  dining  room ; 
and  the  little  family  gathered  round  a  bounti&illy 
spread  table.  There  were  only  those  three;  and 
naturally,  the  attention  of  the  two  elder  was  very 
much  concentrated  upon  the  third  new  member 
of  the  party;  although  Mr.  Eberstein  was  hungry 
and  proved  it.  The  more  Mrs.  Eberstein  studied 
her  new  acquisition,  however,  the  more  incitement 
to  study  she  found.  . 

Dolly  was  not  like  most  children;  one  could  see 
that  immediately.  Faces  as  pretty,  and  more  pret- 
ty, could  easily  be  found;  the  charm  was  not  in 
mere  flesh  and  blood  form  or  colour.  Other  chil- 
dren's faces  are  often  innocent  too,  and  free  from 
the  shadow  of  life's  burdens,  as  this  was.  Never- 
theless it  is  not  often,  it  is  very  rarely,  that  one 
sees  the  mingling  of  childish  simplicity  with  that 
thoughtful,  wise,  spiritual  look  into  life,  which  met 
one  in  Dolly's  serious  hazel  orbs.  Not  often  that 
sweetness  and  character  speak  so  early  in  the 
lines  of  the  lips;  utterly  childish  in  their  soft, 
free  mobility;  and  yet  revealing  continually  a 
trait  of  thoughtfulness  or  of  strength,  along  with 
the  happy  play  of  an  unqualified  tender  disposi- 
tion. "  You  are  lovely  " — "  you  are  lovely  !  " — was 
Mrs.  Eberstein's  inner  cry;  and  she  had  to  guard 
herself  that  the  thought  did  not  come  to  too  open 


DOLLY'S  ARRIVAL.  11 

expression.  There  was  a  delicate  air  of  refinement 
also  about  the  child,  quite  in  keeping  with  all  the 
rest  of  her;  a  neat  and  noiseless  handling  of  knife 
and  fork,  cup  and  saucer;  and  while  Dolly  was 
evidently  hungry  as  well  as  her  uncle,  she  took 
what  was  given  to  her  in  a  thoroughly  high-bred 
way;  that  is,  she  made  neither  too  much  nor  too 
little  of  it. 

Doubtless  all  the  while  she  was  using  her  power 
of  observation,  as  Mrs.  Eberstein  was  using  hers, 
though  the  fact  was  not  obtruded;  for  Dolly  had 
heart  wants  quite  as  urgent  as  body  wants.  What 
she  saw  was  reassuring.  With  Mr.  Eberstein  she 
had  already  been  several  hours  in  company,  hav- 
ing travelled  with  him  from  New  York.  She  was 
convinced  of  his  genial  kindness  and  steadfast  hon- 
esty; all  the  lines  of  his  handsome  face  and  every 
movement  of  his  somewhat  ease-loving  person  were 
in  harmony  with  that  impression.  Mrs.  Eberstein 
was  a  fit  mate  for  her  husband.  If  Dolly  had 
watched  her  a  little  anxiously  at  first,  on  account 
of  her  livelier  manner,  she  soon  made  out  to  her 
satisfaction  that  nothing  but  kindness,  large  and 
bounteous,  lodged  behind  her  aunt's  face,  and 
gave  its  character  to  her  aunt's  manner.  She 
knew  those  lively  eyes  were  studying  her;  she 
knew  just  as  well  that  nothing  but  good  would 
come  of  the  study. 

The  meal  over,  Mrs.  Eberstein  took  her  niece 
up  stairs  to  make  her  acquainted  with  her  new 
quarters.  It  was  a  little  room  off  the  hall  which 


12  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

had  been  destined  for  Dolly,  opening  out  of  her 
aunt's  own;  and  it  had  been  fitted  up  with  careful 
affection.  A  small  bedstead  and  dressing  table  of 
walnut  wood,  a  little  chest  of  drawers,  a  little  ward- 
robe ;  it  was  a  wonder  how  so  much  could  have  been 
got  in,  but  there  was  room  for  all.  And  then  there 
were  red  curtains  and  carpet,  and  on  the  white 
spread  a  dainty  little  eider  down  silk  quilt;  and 
on  the  dressing  table  and  chest  of  drawers  pretty 
toilet  napkins  and  pin  cushion.  It  was  a  cosy  lit- 
tle apartment  as  ever  eleven  years  old  need  delight 
in.  Dolly  forthwith  hung  up  her  hat  and  coat  in 
the  wardrobe ;  took  brush  and  comb  out  of  her  trav- 
elling bag,  and  with  somewhat  elaborate  care  made 
her  hair  smooth ;  as  smooth,  that  is,  as  a  loose  con- 
fusion of  curly  locks  allowed;  then  signified  that 
she  was  ready  to  go  down  stairs  again.  If  Mrs. 
Eberstein  had  expected  some  remark  upon  her 
work,  she  was  disappointed. 

In  the  drawing-room,  she  drew  the  child  to  sit 
down  upon  her  knee. 

"  Well,  Dolly,  what  do  you  think  you  are  going 
to  do  in  Philadelphia  ?  " 

"  Go  to  school — they  say." 

"Who  says  so?" 

"  Father  says  so,  and  mother." 

"  What  do  you  think  they  want  you  to  go  to 
school  for?" 

"  I  suppose,  that  I  may  become  like  other  people." 

Mr.  Eberstein  burst  out  into  a  laugh.  His  wife's 
eyes  went  over  to  him  adjuringly. 


DOLLY'S  ARRIVAL.  13 

"  Are  you  not  like  other  people  now,  Dolly  ?  " 

The  child's  sweet,  thoughtful  brown  eyes  were 
lifted  to  hers  frankly,  as  she  answered,  "I  don't 
know,  ma'am." 

"Then  why  do  you  say  that?  or  why  do  they 
say  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Dolly  again.  "  I  think  they 
think  so." 

"I  dare  say  they  do,"  said  Mrs.  Eberstein;  "but 
if  you  were  mine,  I  would  rather  have  you  unlike 
other  people." 

"Why,  Aunt  Harry?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Eberstein ;  "  now  you'll  have  to 
go  on  and  tell."  And  Dolly's  eyes  indeed  looked 
expectant. 

"  I  think  I  like  you  best  just  as  you  are." 

Dolly's  face  curled  all  up  into  a  smile  at  this; 
brow  and  eyes  and  cheeks  and  lips  all  spoke  her 
sense  of  amusement ;  and  stooping  forward  a  little 
at  the  same  time,  she  laid  a  loving  kiss  upon  her 
aunt's  mouth,  who  was  unspeakably  delighted  with 
this  expression  of  confidence.  But  then  she  repeated 
gravely, 

"I  think  they  want  me  changed." 

"  And  pray,  what  are  you  going  to  do,  with  that 
purpose  in  view  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  am  going  to  study,  and  learn 
things;  a  great  many  things." 

"I  don't  believe  you  are  particularly  ignorant, 
for  eleven  years  old." 

"0  I  do  not  know  anything !  " 


14  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  Can  you  write  a  nice  hand  ?  " 

Dolly's  face  wrinkled  up  again  with  a  sense  of 
the  comical.  She  gave  an  unhesitating  affirma- 
tive answer. 

"And  you  have  read  Shakspeare.  What  else, 
Dolly?" 

"  Plutarch." 

"Plutarch's  Lives?"  said  Mrs.  Eberstein,  while 
her  husband  again  laughed  out  aloud.  "  Hush,  Ed- 
ward. Is  it  Plutarch's  Lives,  my  dear,  that  you 
mean?  Csesar,  and  Alexander,  and  Pompey?" 

Dolly  nodded.  "And  all  the  rest  of  them.  1 
like  them  very  much." 

"  But  what  is  your  favourite  book  ?  " 

"That,"  said  Dolly. 

"I  have  got  a  whole  little  bookcase  up  stairs, 
full  of  the  books  I  used  to  read  when  I  was  a 
little  girl.  We  will  look  into  it  to-morrow,  and 
see  what  we  can  find.  Plutarch's  Lives  is  not 
there." 

"0  I  do  not  want  that,"  said  Dolly,  her  eyes 
brightening.  "  I  have  read  it  so  much,  I  know  it 
all." 

"Come  here,"  said  Mr.  Eberstein;  "your  aunt 
has  had  you  long  enough;  come  here,  Dolly,  and 
talk  to  me.  Tell  me  which  of  those  old  fellows  you 
think  was  the  best  fellow  ?  " 

"Of  Plutarch's  Lives?"  said  Dolly,  accepting  a 
position  upon  Mr.  Eberstein's  knee  now. 

"Yes;  the  men  that  Plutarch's  Lives  tell  about. 
Whom  do  you  like  best  ?  " 


DOLLY'S  ARRIVAL.  15 

Dolly  pondered,  and  then  averred  that  she  liked 
one  for  one  thing  and  another  for  another.  There 
ensued  a  lively  discussion  between  her  and  Mr. 
Eberstein,  in  the  course  of  which  Dolly  certain- 
ly brought  to  view  some  power  of  discrimina- 
tion and  an  unbiassed  original  judgment;  at  the 
same  time  her  manner  retained  the  delicate  quiet 
which  characterized  all  that  belonged  to  her. 
She  held  her  own  over  against  Mr.  Eberstein, 
but  she  held  it  with  an  exquisite  poise  of  ladylike 
good  breeding;  and  Mr.  Eberstein  was  charmed 
with  her.  The  talk  lasted  until  it  was  broken 
up  by  Mrs.  Eberstein,  who  declared  Dolly  must 
go  to  rest. 

She  went  up  herself  with  the  child,  and  attended 
to  her  little  arrangements ;  helped  her  undress ;  and 
when  Dolly  was  fairly  in  bed,  stood  still  looking  at 
the  bright  little  head  on  the  pillow,  thinking  that 
the  brown  eyes  were  very  wide  open  for  the  cir- 
cumstances. 

"  Are  you  very  tired,  darling  ?  "  she  asked.' 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Dolly.    "  I  guess,  not  very." 

"  Sleepy  ?  " 

"No,  I  am  not  sleepy  yet.     I  am  wide  awake." 

"  Do  you  ever  lie  awake,  after  you  have  gone  to 
bed?" 

"Not  often.     Sometimes." 

"  What  makes  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     I  get  thinking,  sometimes." 

"About  what  can  such  a  midget  as  you  get 
thinking  ?  " 


16  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

Dolly's  face  wrinkled  up  a  little  in  amusement  at 
this  question.  "  I  see  a  great  many  things  to  think 
about — "  she  answered. 

"  It's  too  soon  for  you  to  begin  that,"  said  Mrs. 
Eberstein,  shaking  her  head.  Then  she  dropped 
down  on  her  knees  by  the  bedside,  so  as  to  bring 
her  face  nearer  the  child's. 

"  Dolly — have  you  said  your  prayers  ?  "  she  asked 
softly. 

The  brown  eyes  seemed  to  lift  their  lids  a  lit- 
tle wider  at  that.  "What  do  you  mean,  Aunt 
Harry  ?  "  she  replied. 

"Do  you  never  pray  to  the  Lord  Jesus,  before 
you  go  to  sleep  ?  " 

"I  don't  do  it  ever.  I  don't  know  anything 
about  it." 

The  thrill  that  went  over  Mrs.  Eberstein  at  this, 
happily  the  little  one  did  not  know.  She  went  on 
very  quietly,  in  manner. 

"  Don't  you  know  what  prayer  is  ?  " 

"It  is  what  people  do  in  church,  isn't  it ? " 

"What  is  it,  that  people  do  in  church?" 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Dolly.  "  I  never  thought 
about  it." 

"  It  is  what  you  do  whenever  you  ask  your  father 
or  mother  for  anything.  Only  that  is  prayer  to 
your  father  or  mother.  This  I  mean  is  prayer  to 
God." 

"  We  don't  call  it  prayer,  asking  them  anything," 
said  Dolly. 

"  No,  we  do  not  call  it  so.     But  it  is  really  the 


DOLLY'S  ARRIVAL.  17 

same  thing.  We  call  it  prayer,  when  we  speak  to 
God." 

"  Why  should  I  speak  to  God,  Aunt  Harry  ?*  I 
don't  know  how." 

"Why  he  is  our  Father  in  heaven,  Dolly. 
Wouldn't  it  be  a  strange  thing  if  children  never 
spoke  to  their  Father  ?  " 

"But  they  can't,  if  they  don't  know  him,"  said 
Dolly. 

Here  followed  a  strange  thing,  which  no  doubt 
had  mighty  after  effects.  Mrs.  Eberstein,  who  was 
already  pretty  well  excited  over  the  conversation, 
at  these  words  broke  down,  burst  into  tears,  and 
hid  her  face  in  the  bedclothes.  Dolly  looked  on 
in  wondering  awe,  and  an  instant  apprehension 
that  the  question  here  was  about  something  real. 
Presently  she  put  out  her  hand  and  touched  caress- 
ingly Mrs.  Eberstein's  hair,  moved  both  by  pity  and 
curiosity  to  put  an  end  to  the  tears  and  have  the 
talk  begin  again.  Mrs.  Eberstein  lifted  her  face; 
seized  the  little  hand  and  kissed  it. 

"You  see,  darling,"  she  said,  "I  want  you  to  be 
God's  own  child." 

"  How  can  I  ?  " 

"If  you  will  trust  Jesus  and  obey  him.  All  who 
belong  to  him  are  God's  dear  children ;  and  he  loves 
them,  and  the  Lord  Jesus  loves  them,  and  he  takes 
care  of  them  and  teaches  them,  and  makes  them  fit 
to  be  with  him  and  serve  him  in  glory  by  and  by." 

"  But  I  don't  know  about  Jesus,"  said  Dolly 
again. 


18  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  Haven't  you  got  a  Bible  ?  " 

'^No." 

"  Never  read  it  ?  " 

"  No." 

"Never  went  to  Sunday  School?  " 

"  No,  ma'am." 

"Little  Dolly,  I  am  very  glad  you  came  to 
Philadelphia." 

"Why,  Aunt  Harry?" 

"  Because  I  love  vou  so  much ! "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Eberstein,  kissing  the  child's  sweet  mouth.  "  Why 
Dolly,  Jesus  is  the  best,  best  friend  we  have  got; 
nobody  loves  us  so  much  in  the  whole  world;  he 
gave  his  life  for  us.  And  then,  he  is  the  King  of 
glory.  He  is  everything  that  is  loving  and  true 
and  great  and  good;  'the  chiefest  among  ten 
thousand.' " 

"What  did  he  give  his  life  for?"  said  Dol- 
ly, whose  eyes  were  growing  more  and  more 
intent. 

"  To  save  our  lives,  dear." 

"From  what?" 

"Why  Dolly,  you  and  I,  and  everybody,  have 
broken  God's  beautiful  law.  The  punishment  for 
that  is  death;  not  merely  the  death  of  the  body, 
but  everlasting  separation  from  God  and  his  love 
and  his  favour;  that  is  death;  living  death.  To 
save  us  from  that,  Jesus  died  himself;  he  paid  our 
debt;  he  died  instead  of  us." 

"Then  is  he  dead?"  said  Dolly  awefully. 

"  He  was  dead ;  but  he  rose  again,  and  now  he 


DOLLY'S  ARRIVAL.  19 

lives,  King  over  all.  He  was  God  as  well  as  man, 
so  the  grave  could  not  hold  him.  But  he  paid 
our  debt,  darling." 

"  You  said,  death  was  everlasting  separation  from 
God  and  good,"  said  Dolly  very  solemnly. 

"  For  us,  it  would  have  been." 

"  But  he  did  not  die  that  way  ?  " 

"  He  could  not,  for  he  is  the  glorious  Son  of  God. 
He  only  tasted  death  for  us;  that  we  might  not 
drink  the  bitter  cup  to  eternity." 

"  Aunt  Harry,"  said  Dolly,  "  is  all  that  trite  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"When  did  he  do  that?" 

"  It  is  almost  nineteen  hundred  years  ago.  And 
since  then,  if  any  one  trusts  his  word  and  is  will- 
ing to  be  his  servant,  Jesus  loves  him,  and  keeps 
him,  and  saves  him,  and  makes  him  blessed  for 
ever." 

"  But  why  did  he  do  that  ?  what  made  him  ?  " 

"  His  great  love  for  us." 

"  Us?"  Dolly  repeated. 

"Yes.  You  and  me,  and  everybody.  He  just 
came  to  save  that  which  was  lost." 

"  I  don't  see  how  he  can  love  me,"  said  Dolly 
slowly.  "Why  I  am  a  stranger  to  him,  Aunt 
Harry." 

"Ah,  you  are  no  stranger!  Oh  yes,  Dolly,  he 
loves  you  dearly;  and  he  knows  all  about  you." 

Dolly  considered  the  matter  a  little,  and  also 
considered  her  aunt,  whose  lips  were  quivering 
and  whose  eyes  were  dropping  tears.  With  a 


20  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

very  serious  face  Dolly  considered  the  matter:  and 
came  to  a  conclusion  with  promptitude  unusual  m 
this  one  subject  of  all  the  world.  She  half  rose  up 
in  her  bed. 

"Then  I  love  him,"  she  said.  "I  will  love  him 
too,  Aunt  Harry." 

"  Will  you,  my  darling  ?  " 

"  But  I  do  not  know  how  to  be  his  servant." 

"Jesus  will  teach  you  himself,  if  you  ask  him." 

"  How  will  he  teach  me  ?  " 

"He  will  make  you  understand  his  word,  and 
let  you  know  what  pleases  him.  He  says,  *  If  ye 
love  me,  keep  my  commandments.' " 

"His  commandments  are  in  the   Bible,  aren't 


'Certainly.  You  say  you  have  not  got  a  Bi- 
ble?" 

"No." 

"Then  we  will  see  about  that  to-morrow,  the 
first  thing  we  do.  You  shall  have  a  Bible,  and 
that  will  tell  you  about  his  commandments." 

"Aunt  Harry,  I  would  like  him  to  know  to- 
night that  I  love  him." 

"Then  tell  him  so,  dear." 

"  Can  I  ?  " 

"  To  be  sure  you  can.     Why  not  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  how." 

"  Tell  him,  Dolly,  just  as  if  the  Lord  Jesus  were 
here  present  and  you  could  see  him.  He  is  here, 
only  you  do  not  see  him ;  that  is  all  the  difference 
Tell  him,  Dolly,  just  as  you  would  tell  me;  only 


DOLLY'S  ARRIVAL.  21 

remember  that  you  are  speaking  to  the  King.  He 
would  like  to  hear  you  say  that." 

"  I  ought  to  kneel  down  when  I  speak  to  him, 
oughtn't  I  ?  People  do  in  church." 

"  It  is  proper,  when  we  can,  to  take  a  position 
of  respect  when  we  speak  to  the  King;  don't  you 
think  so  ?  " 

Dolly  shuffled  herself  up  upon  her  knees  in  the 
bed,  not  regarding  much  that  Mrs.  Eberstein  threw 
a  shawl  round  her  shoulders;  and  waited  a  minute 
or  two,  looking  intensely  serious  and  considering. 
Then,  laying  her  hands  involuntarily  together,  but 
with  her  eyes  open,  she  spoke. 

"  O  Lord  Jesus — Aunt  Harry  says  you  are  here, 
though  I  cannot  see  you.  If  you  are  here,  you 
can  see,  and  you  know  that  I  love  you;  and  I  will 
be  your  servant.  I  never  knew  about  you  before, 
or  I  would  have  done  it  before.  Now  I  do.  Please 
to  teach  me,  for  I  do  not  know  anything,  that  I 
may  do  everything  that  pleases  you.  I  will  not 
do  anything  that  don't  please  you.  Amen." 

Dolly  waited  a  moment,  then  turned  and  put 
her  arms  round  her  aunt's  neck  and  kissed  her. 
"Thank  you!" — she  said  earnestly;  and  then  lay 
down  and  arranged  herself  to  sleep. 

Mrs.  Eberstein  went  down  stairs  and  astonished 
her  husband  by  a  burst  of  hysterical  weeping.  He 
made  anxious  enquiries;  and  at  last  received  an 
account  of  the  last  half  hour. 

"  But  O  Edward,  what  do  you  think  ? "  she 
concluded.  "Did  you  ever  hear  anything  like 


22  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

that  in  your  life?    Do  you  think  it  can  be  gen- 
uine ?  " 

"  Genuine  what  ?  "  demanded  her  husband. 

"  Why,  I  mean,  can  it  be  true  religious  conver- 
sion? This  child  knows  next  to  nothing;  just 
that  Jesus  died  out  of  love  to  her,  to  save  her. 
Nothing  more." 

"  And  she  has  given  her  love  back.  Very  logi- 
cal and  reasonable;  and  ought  not  to  be  so  un- 
common." 

"  But  it  is  uncommon,  Edward.  At  least  people 
generally  make  a  longer  business  of  it." 

"  In  which  they  do  not  shew  their  wisdom." 

"No,  but  they  do  it.  Edward,  can  it  be,  that 
this  child  is  so  suddenly  a  Christian?  Will  it 
stand?" 

"  Only  time  can  shew  that.  But  Harry,  all  the 
cases,  almost  all  the  cases,  reported  in  the  New 
Testament  are  cases  of  sudden  yielding.  Just  look 
at  it.  John  and  Andrew  took  but  a  couple  of 
hours  or  so  to  make  up  their  minds.  Nathanael 
did  not  apparently  take  more  than  two  minutes, 
after  he  saw  Christ.  Lydia  became  a  Christian 
at  her  first  hearing  the  good  news;  the  eunuch 
made  up  his  mind  as  quick.  Why  should  not  lit- 
tle Dolly  ?  The  trouble  is  caused  only  by  people's 
obstinate  resistance." 

"  Then  you  think  it  may  be  true  work  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  think  so.  This  child  is  not  an  or- 
dinary child,  there  is  that  to  be  said." 

"No,"    said   Mrs.   Eberstein  thoughtfully.     "Is 


DOLLY'S  ARRIVAL.  23 

she  not  peculiar?  She  is  such  a  child;  and  yet 
there  is  such  a  wise,  deep  look  in  her  brown  eyes. 
What  pretty  eyes  they  are.  There  is  the  oddest 
mixture  of  old  and  young  in  her  I  ever  saw.  She 
is  going  to  be  lovely,  Edward  !  " 

"  I  think  she  is  lovely  now." 

"  0  yes  !  but  I  mean,  when  she  grows  up.  She 
will  be  very  lovely,  with  those  spiritual  eyes  and 
that  loose  curly  brown  hair;  if  only  she  can  be 
kept  as  she  is  now." 

"  My  dear !  she  cannot  be  that." 

"  O  you  know  what  I  mean,  Edward.  If  she 
can  be  kept  unspoiled ;  untainted ;  unsophisticated ; 
with  that  sort  of  mixture  of  wisdom  and  simplic- 
ity which  she  has  now.  I  wish  we  need  not  send 
her  to  school !  " 

"We  have  no  choice  about  that.  And  the  Lord 
can  keep  his  own.  Let  us  ask  him." 

They  knelt  and  did  so ;  with  some  warm  tears  on 
Mrs.  Eberstein's  part,  and  great  and  warm  earnest- 
ness in  them  both. 


CHAPTER    II. 

CHRISTINA   AND   HER   MOTHER. 

MRS.  EBERSTEIN  watched  during  the  next  few 
days,  to  see,  if  she  could,  whether  the  sud- 
den resolve-taking  on  Dolly's  part  that  first  even- 
ing "  meant  anything,"  as  she  expressed  it,  or  not. 
She  remained  in  doubt.  Dolly  was  thoughtful  cer- 
tainly, and  sweet  certainly;  "but  that  don't  tell," 
Mrs.  Eberstein  remarked;  "it  is  her  characteristic." 
It  was  equally  certain  that  she  had  attached  her- 
self with  a  trustful,  clinging  affection  to  the  new 
friends  whose  house  and  hearts  had  received  her. 
Dolly's  confidence  was  given  to  them,  fully  and 
heartily,  from  that  very  first  day;  and  they  saw 
that  it  was. 

Nearly  a  week  passed  before  the  school  term  be- 
gan. Meanwhile  Dolly  was  taken  about  in  walks 
and  drives,  to  see  all  that  her  friends  thought 
would  interest  her.  Everything  interested  her, 
they  found;  and  upon  every  subject  presented  to 
her  her  little  head  went  to  work;  the  result  of 
which  was  the  putting  of  a  question  now  and 
then,  which  afforded  her  guardians  perhaps  as 
much  entertainment  as  the  ground  of  the  ques- 


CHRISTINA  AND  HER  MOTHER.          25 

tion  had  given  Dolly.  These  questions  however 
were  called  forth  most  of  all  by  the  subject  which 
had  seized  hold  of  Dolly's  mind  with  such  force 
that  first  evening.  Mrs.  Eberstein  had  not  for- 
gotten her  promise  about  the  Bible.  One  of  the 
first  expeditions  undertaken  the  next  day  had  been 
in  search  of  one;  successful,  in  the  judgment  of 
both  Dolly  and  her  aunt;  and  since  then  the  book 
was  very  often  to  be  seen  in  Dolly's  hands. 

"  What  are  you  reading  there,  Dolly  ? "  Mr. 
Eberstein  asked,  corning  in  one  evening  just  be- 
fore dinner.  Dolly  was  on  a  low  seat  at  the 
corner  of  the  fireplace,  reading  by  the  shine  of 
a  fire  of  Liverpool  coal,  which  threw  warm  lights 
all  over  the  little  figure.  She  looked  up  and 
said  it  was  her  Bible  she  was  studying. 

"You  will  put  out  your  eyes." 

"0  no,  Uncle  Edward;  the  print  is  so  good,  and 
the  fire  makes  such  a  nice  blaze,  I  can  see  perfectly." 

"And  pray,  what  are  you  looking  for,  or  what 
are  you  finding,  in  that  book,  little  one  ?  " 

"  I  am  looking  for  a  great  deal, — arid  I  am  find- 
ing a  little,"  was  Dolly's  reply. 

"  Different  with  me,"  said  Mr.  Eberstein  with  a 
short  laugh.  "  I  generally  find  more  in  the  Bible 
than  I  look  for." 

"What  do  you  look  for  in  it?"  said  Dolly, 
raising  her  head  which  had  gone  down  to  the 
reading. 

Mr.  Eberstein  laughed  again. 

"Truly,  Dolly,"  he  said,  "you  have  hit  me  there! 


26  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

I  believe  I  often  open  the  Bible  without  looking 
for  anything,  in  particular." 

"  Perhaps  that  makes  the  difference,"  said  Dolly, 
letting  her  eyes  fall  again  to  her  page. 

"Perhaps  it  does;  but  Dolly,  I  should  very  much 
like  to  know  what  you  are  looking  for  ?  " 

"  I  am  looking  to  find  out  the  will  of  God,  Uncle 
Edward." 

"  Come  here,  my  pet," — said  Mr.  Eberstein,  coax- 
ing the  little  girl  into  his  arms  and  setting  her  on 
his  knee.  "What  do  you  want  to  find  out  the 
will  of  God  for  ?  what  about  ?  " 

"About  me." 

"  What  do  you  want  to  know  the  will  of  God 
about  you  for  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  do  it,  Uncle  Edward." 

"  There  couldn't  be  a  better  reason.  Jesus  says, 
'  He  that  hath  my  commandments,  and  keepeth 
them,  he  it  is  that  loveth  me.'  Do  you  find  what 
you  seek?" 

"  I  find  some,"  said  Dolly. 

"  Where  were  you  reading  just  now  ?  " 

"About  Abraham." 

"Abraham!  What  do  you  find  in  Abraham's 
life,  may  I  ask,  that  tells  you  the  will  of  God 
about  Dolly  Copley  ?  You  are  not  called  upon  to 
leave  your  country  and  go  out  into  a  strange  land." 

"No;  not  that.  But  God  said  to  Abraham, 
'Walk  before  me,  and  be  thou  perfect.'  And  it 
puzzles  me." 

"  What  puzzles  you  ?  " 


CHRISTINA  AND  HER  MOTHER.          27 

"  I  don't  see  how  I  can  '  walk  before  him.' " 

"  Dolly, — the  Lord  is  here,  here  where  we  are, 
wherever  we  are." 

"Yes.     I  know  that." 

"Then  if  you  know  that  and  remember  it,  and 
do  everything  you  do  in  his  presence,  and  feeling 
that  it  is  in  his  presence,  you  will  be  walking 
before  him ;  don't  you  see  ?  Just  as  if  Jesus  were 
here  again  upon  earth,  and  you  were  always  with 
him;  only  you  do  not  see  him  now.  He  sees 
you." 

"  And  '  be  perfect '  ?  "  said  Dolly  question ingly. 

"Yes.  That  means,  I  think,  don't  try  to  serve 
two  masters.  If  you  love  God  with  all  your  heart, 
and  give  him  your  whole  life  and  service, — not  a 
part  of  it, — that  is  what  the  word  to  Abraham 
means,  I  think.  A  servant  of  God  is  a  perfect  ser- 
vant, if  he  does  all  the  will  of  God  that  he  knows, 
and  as  fast  as  he  knows  it.  But  you  cannot  do 
that  of  yourself,  little  Dolly." 

"Why  cannot  I  ?  if  I  want  to." 

"  Why  because  there  come  temptations  and  there 
come  difficulties;  and  you  will  want  to  do  some- 
thing you  like  and  not  what  God  likes ;  and  you 
will  do  it  too,  unless  the  Lord  Jesus  keeps  fast 
hold  of  you  and  saves  you  from  making  such  a 
mistake.  Only  he  can." 

"Can  he?" 

"Certainly  he  can." 

"Will  he?" 

"  If  you  want  him  to  do  it,  and  trust  him  to  do 


28  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

it,  he  will.  He  will  just  do  all  that  you  trust  him 
to  do." 

Dolly  pondered.  "Will  he  do  that  because  he 
loves  me?"  she  asked. 

"Just  for  that  reason,  Dolly." 

"Then  he  will  do  it,"  said  Dolly  confidently; 
"  for  I  will  trust  him.  Won't  you  shew  me  where 
he  says  that,  Uncle  Edward  ?  " 

Mr.  Ebersteiu  told  Dolly  to  find  Matt.  xxi.  21. 
Dolly  read  eagerly. 

"Jesus  answered  and  said  unto  them,  Verily  I 
say  unto  you,  If  ye  have  faith,  and  doubt  not,  ye 
shall  not  only  do  this  which  is  done  to  the  fig 
tree,  but  also  if  ye  shall  say  unto  this  mountain, 
Be  thou  removed,  and  be  thou  cast  into  the  sea, 
it  shall  be  done.  And  all  things  whatsoever  ye 
shall  ask  in  prayer,  believing,  ye  shall  receive." 

Dolly  read  to  herself,  then  looked  up,  eager  and 
confident,  for  the  next  reference. 

"Turn  to  John  xv.  7." 

Again  Dolly  found  and  read,  in  silence. 

"  If  ye  abide  in  me,  and  my  words  abide  in  you, 
ye  shall  ask  what  ye  will,  and  it  shall  be  done 
unto  you." 

"  What  next,  Uncle  Edward  ?  " 

"  Isn't  that  promise  enough  ? " 

"Yes;  but  I  thought  you  had  more." 

"  There  is  a  great  deal  more.  Look  out  I  Thes- 
salonians  v.  23,  24." 

Dolly  read,  slowly,  aloud  now, 

'"And    the    very    God    of  peace    sanctify  you 


CHRISTINA  AND  HER  MOTHER.          29 

wholly;  and  I  pray  God  your  whole  spirit  and 
soul  and  body  be  preserved  blameless  unto  the 
coming  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ.  Faithful  is  he 
that  calleth  you,  who  also  will  do  it.'  0  that  is 
beautiful,  Uncle  Edward  !  " 

"Do  you  want  another?  Find  Jude,  and  read 
the  24th  and  25th  verses." 

With  some  trouble,  Dolly  found  it. 

" '  Now  unto  him  that  is  able  to  keep  you  from 
falling,  and  to  present  you  faultless  before  the 
presence  of  his  glory  with  exceeding  joy,  to  the 
only  wise  God  our  Saviour,  be  glory  and  maj- 
esty, dominion  and  power,  both  now  and  ever. 
Amen.' " 

Dolly  slipped  off  Mr.  Eberstein's  knee  and  re- 
took her  old  place  by  the  fire ;  where  she  sat  turn- 
ing from  one  passage  to  another  of  those  she  had 
been  reading.  Mr.  Eberstein  watched  her,  how 
the  ribband  markers  of  the  Bible  were  carefully 
laid  in  two  of  the  places,  and  a  couple  of  neat  slips 
of  paper  prepared  for  the  others. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  to-day,  Dolly  ? " 
he  asked  at  length. 

"We  went  to  see  the  water  works." 

"O  you  did!  And  what  did  you  think  of  the 
water  works  ?  " 

"  We  went  up  to  the  top  and  walked  about. 
Do  the  people  in  Philadelphia  want  so  much  water 
as  all  that  ?  " 

"  They  want  a  great  deal  more.  The  Fairmount 
works  give  only  enough  for  part  of  the  city." 


30  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"That  is  taking  a  great  deal  of  trouble  to  get 
water." 

"  It  would  be  worse  trouble  to  do  without  it." 

"But  why  don't  people  all  live  in  the  country, 
as  we  do  at  home?  then  they  would  have  water 
for  nothing." 

"  Humph !  That  would  answer,  Dolly,  if  people 
were  contented  with  water;  they  all  want  wine. 
I  mean,  my  child,  that  most  people  are  not  sat- 
isfied with  simple  doings;  and  for  anything  more 
they  must  have  money ;  and  they  can  make  money 
faster  in  cities.  Therefore  they  build  cities." 

"  Is  that  what  they  build  cities  for  ?  "  said  Dolly. 

"  Largely.  Not  altogether.  A  great  many  things 
can  be  better  done  where  people  are  congregated 
together;  it  is  for  the  convenience  of  trade  and 
business,  in  many  kinds,  and  in  many  ways. 
What  have  you  been  doing  since  you  came  home 
from  the  water  works  ?  " 

"  0  Uncle  Edward !  "  said  Dolly,  suddenly  rising 
now  and  coming  to  him,  "  Aunt  Harry  has  opened 
for  me  her  old  bookcase  !  " 

"What  old  bookcase?  I  didn't  know  she  had 
an  old  bookcase." 

"  0  yes ;  the  one  where  she  keeps  the  books  she 
had  when  she  was  as  old  as  I  am." 

"And  as  young,  eh?  Well,  what  is  in  that 
bookcase  ?  is  it  a  great  find  ?  " 

"  0  Uncle  Edward,  there  is  a  great  deal  in  it ! 
It  is  wonderful.  Books  I  never  saw,  and  they 
look  so  interesting ! " 


CHRISTINA  AND  HER  MOTHER.          31 

"  What,  for  instance  ?  Something  to  rival  Plu- 
tarch's Lives  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Dolly;  "you  know  I  have 
not  read  them  yet.  There  is  '  Sandford  and  Mer- 
ton';  I  was  reading  in  that,  and  I  like  it  very 
much;  and  the  'Looking  Glass'  is  another;  and 
'  Eosamond '  I  am  sure  is  interesting.  0  there  is 
a  whole  load  of  them." 

"  Well  I  am  glad  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Eberstein. 
"That  is  the  right  sort  of  stuif  for  your  busy 
little  brain;  will  not  weigh  too  heavy.  Now  I 
suppose  you  will  be  reading  all  the  time  you  are 
in  the  house." 

"  Aunt  Harry  has  begun  to  teach  me  to  knit." 

"Very  good,"  said  Mr.  Eberstein.  "I  believe 
in  knitting  too.  That's  safe." 

They  went  to  dinner,  and  after  dinner  there  was 
a  further  knitting  lesson,  in  which  Dolly  seemed 
absorbed;  nevertheless,  before  the  evening  was 
over  she  brought  up  a  very  different  subject  again. 

"Aunt  Harry,"  she  began,  in  the  midst  of  ari 
arduous  effort  to  get  the  loops  of  wool  on  her 
needles  in  the  right  relative  condition, — "does 
mother  know  about  the  Bible  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Eberstein,  with  a  glance  at  her 
husband,  "  she  knows  about  it,  something." 

"Then  why  did  she  never  tell  me  anything 
about  it  ?  " 

Mrs.  Eberstein  hesitated. 

"I  suppose,  Dolly,  her  thoughts  were  fuller  of 
other  things." 


32  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"But  how  could  they  be?"  said  the  little  one, 
laying  her  hands  with  their  knitting  work  in  her 
lap,  and  looking  up.  Her  aunt  did  not  answer. 

"How  could  her  thoughts  be  fuller  of  other 
things,  if  she  knows  the  Bible  ?  "  Dolly  urged. 

"I  don't  think  she  really  knows  much  of  what 
is  in  the  Bible,"  Mrs.  Eberstein  said.  "She  has 
never  read  it  much." 

"I  don't  think  she  knows  about  Jesus,"  Dolly 
went  on  gravely;  "for  she  never  told  me;  and  she 
would  if  she  had  known,  I  think.  Aunt  Harriet, 
I  think  /ought  to  tell  her  now." 

"  What  would  you  tell  her,  my  darling  ?  " 

"01  will  tell  her  that  I  know  him  and  love 
him;  and  I  will  tell  her  I  have  got  a  Bible,  and 
some  of  the  things  I  have  found  in  it.  I  will  ask 
her  to  get  one  too,  and  read  it.  I  don't  believe  she 
knows." 

"The  reason  why  a  great  many  people  do  not 
know,  Dolly,  is,  as  your  Aunt  Harry  says,  that 
they  are  so  much  taken  up  with  other  things." 

"  Then  I  think  one  ought  to  take  care  not  to  be 
too  much  taken  up  with  other  things,"  said  Dolly 
very  seriously. 

"  But  you  have  got  to  be  taken  up  with  other 
things,"  Mr.  Eberstein  went  on.  "Here  you  are 
going  to  school  in  a  few  days ;  then  your  head  will 
be  full  of  English  and  French  and  your  hands  full 
of  piano  keys  and  harp  strings,  from  morning  till 
night.  How  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

Dolly  looked  at  the  speaker,  came  and  placed 


CHRISTINA  AND  HER  MOTHER.          33 

herself  on  his  knee  again,  and  laid  a  hand  on  his 
shoulder;  eying  him  steadily. 

"  Ought  I  not  to  go  to  school  ?  " 

"  Must ! — else  you  cannot  be  the  right  sort  of  a 
woman,  and  do  the  right  sort  of  work." 

"How  then,  Uncle  Edward?  what  shall  I  do?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  one  thing,  Dolly.  Don't  study  and 
practise  to  get  ahead  of  somebody  else;  but  to 
please  the  King !  " 

"  The  King— that  is  Jesus  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

Dolly  nodded,  in  full  agreement  with  the  rule 
of  action  as  thus  stated;  presently  brought  for- 
ward another  idea. 

"Will  he  care?  Would  it  please  him  to  have  me 
play  on  the  piano,  or  learn  French  and  arithmetic  ?  " 

"  Dolly,  the  more  you  know,  and  the  better  you 
know  it,  the  better  servant  you  can  be ;  you  will 
have  the  more  to  use  for  Jesus." 

"  Can  I  use  such  things  for  him  ?     How  ?  " 

"  Many  ways.  He  will  shew  you  how.  Do  you 
think  an  ignorant  woman  could  do  as  much  in  the 
world  as  an  elegant,  well-informed,  accomplished 
woman  ?  " 

Dolly  thought  over  this  question,  nodded  as  one 
who  had  come  to  an  understanding  of  it,  and  went 
back  to  her  knitting. 

"What  ever  will  become  of  that  child,"  said 
Mrs.  Eberstein  an  hour  or  two  later,  when  she  and 
her  husband  were  alone.  "I  am  full  of  anxiety 
about  her." 


34  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"Then  you  are  taking  upon  you  the  part  of 
Providence." 

"No,  but  Edward,  Dolly  will  have  a  history." 

"  So  have  we  all,"  Mr.  Eberstein  responded  very 
unresponsively. 

"  But  she  will  not  have  a  common  history.  Do 
you  see  how  open  she  is  to  receive  impressions, 
and  how  fast  they  stay  once  they  are  made  ?  " 

"  I  see  the  first  quality.  I  never  saw  a  creature 
quicker  to  take  impressions  or  to  welcome  affec- 
tions. Whether  they  will  prove  as  lasting  as  they 
are  sudden, — that  we  have  no  means  of  knowing 
at  present." 

"I  think  they  will." 

"That's  a  woman's  conclusion,  founded  on  her 
wishes." 

"It  is  a  man's  conclusion  too;  for  you  think  the 
same  thing,  Edward." 

"Don't  prove  anything,  Harry." 

"Yes,  it  does.  When  two  people  come  to  the 
same  independent  view  of  something,  it  is  fair  to 
suppose  there  are  grounds  for  it." 

"  I  hope  so.     Time  will  shew." 

"  But  Edward,  with  this  extremely  sensitive  and 
affectionate  nature,  how  important  it  is  that  Dolly 
should  have  only  the  right  surroundings  and  see 
only  the  right  sort  of  people." 

"Just  so.  And  so  she  is  going  out  into  the 
world  of  a  large  school;  where  she  will  meet  all 
sorts  of  people  and  be  subjected  to  all  sorts  of  in- 
fluences ;  and  you  cannot  shield  her." 


CHRISTINA  AND  HER  MOTHER.          35 

"  I  wish  I  could  keep  her  at  home,  and  have  her 
taught  here !  I  wish  I  could  !  " 

"  Playing  Providence  again.  We  all  like  to 
do  it." 

"No,  but  Edward,  just  look  at  her,"  said  Mrs. 
Eberstein  with  her  eyes  full  of  tears. 

"  I  do,"  said  Mr.  Eberstein.  "  I've  got  eyes.  But 
you  will  have  to  trust  her,  Harry." 

"  Now  she  will  go,  I  have  no  doubt,  and  write 
that  letter  to  her  mother.  I  wonder  if  Sally  will 
get  scared,  and  take  her  away  from-us  ?  " 

"  Why,  Hal,"  said  her  husband,  "  your  self-will 
is  getting  up  very  strong  to-night!  What  if? 
Dolly's  future  does  not  depend  upon  us;  though 
we  will  do  what  we  can  for  it." 

What  they  did  then,  was  to  pray  about  it  again ; 
for  these  people  believed  in  prayer. 

The  next  day  Mrs.  Eberstein  had  invited  an  ac- 
quaintance to  come  to  dinner.  This  acquaintance 
had  a  daughter,  also  about  to  enter  Mrs.  Delancy's 
school;  and  Mrs.  Eberstein's  object  was  to  let  the 
two  girls  become  a  little  known  to  each  other,  so 
that  Dolly  in  the  new  world  she  was  about  to 
enter  might  not  feel  everything  utterly  strange. 
Mrs.  Thayer  belonged  to  a  good  New  York  family ; 
and  it  likewise  suited  her  purposes  to  have  her 
daughter  received  in  so  unexceptionable  a  house 
as  Mrs.  Eberstein's,  albeit  the  young  lady  was  not 
without  other  Philadelphia  friends.  So  the  party 
fitted  together  very  harmoniously.  Mrs.  Thayer,  in 
spite  of  her  good  connections,  was  no  more  than  a 


36  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

commonplace  personage.  Christina,  her  daughter, 
on  the  other  hand,  shewed  tokens  of  becoming  a 
great  beauty.  A  little  older  than  Dolly,  of  larger 
build  and  more  flesh  and  blood  development  gen- 
erally, and  with  one  of  those  peach-blossom  com- 
plexions which  for  fairness  and  delicacy  almost  rival 
the  flower.  Her  hair  was  pretty,  her  features  also 
pretty,  her  expression  placid.  Mrs.  Eberstein  was 
much  struck. 

"  They  are  just  about  of  an  age,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Thayer.  "  I  suppose  they  will  study  the  same  things. 
Everybody  studies  the  same  things.  Well,  I  hope 
you'll  be  friends  and  not  rivals,  my  dears." 

"Dolly  will  not  be  rivals  with  anybody,"  re- 
turned Dolly's  aunt. 

"She  don't  look  very  strong.  I  should  think 
it  would  not  do  for  her  to  study  too  hard," 
said  the  other  lady.  "0  rivalry  is  necessary, 
you  know,  to  bring  out  the  spirit  of  boys  and 
girls  and  make  them  work.  It  may  be  friend- 
ly rivalry;  but  if  they  were  not  rivals  they 
would  not  be  anything;  might  as  well  not  be 
school  girls,  or  school  boys.  They  would  not 
do  any  work  but  what  they  liked,  and  we  know 
what  that  would  amount  to.  I  don't  know  about 
beating  learning  into  boys;  some  people  say  that 
is  the  way;  but  with  girls  you  can't  take  that 
way;  and  all  you  have  to  fall  back  upon  is  em- 
ulation." 

"  Very  few  young  people  will  study  for  the  love 
of  it,"  Mrs.  Eberstein  so  far  assented. 


CHRISTINA  AND  HER  MOTHER.          37 

"  They  might,  I  believe,  if  the  right  way  was 
taken,"  Mr.  Eberstein  remarked. 

"  Emulation  will  do  it,  if  a  girl  has  any  spirit," 
said  Mrs.  Thayer. 

"  What  sort  of  spirit  ?" 

"  What  sort  of  spirit  ?  Why,  the  spirit  not  to 
let  themselves  be  outdone ;  to  stand  as  high  as 
anybody,  and  higher ;  be  No.  1,  and  carry  off  the 
first  honours.  A  spirited  girl  don't  like  to  be 
No.  2.  Christina  will  never  be  No.  2." 

"  Is  it  quite  certain  that  such  a  spirit  is  the  one 
to  be  cultivated  ?  " 

"It  makes  them  study,"  —  said  Mrs.  Thayer, 
looking  at  her  questioner  to  see  what  he  meant. 

"  What  do  you  think  the  Bible  means,  when  it 
tells  us  not  to  seek  for  honour  ?  " 

"  Not  to  seek  for  honour  ?  "  repeated  the  lady. 

"  Not  the  honour  that  comes  from  man." 

44 1  didn't  know  it  forbade  it.  I  never  heard  that 
it  was  forbidden.  Why,  Mr.  Eberstein,  it  is  natural 
to  wish  for  honour.  Everybody  wishes  for  it." 

44  So  they  do,"  Mr.  Eberstein  assented.  "  I  might 
say,  so  we  do." 

44  It  is  natural,"  —  repeated  the  lady. 

44  Its  being  natural  does  not  prove  it  to  be  right." 

44  Why,  Mr.  Eberstein,  if  it  is  natural,  we  cannot 
help  it." 

"  How  then  does  trying  to  be  No.  1  agree  with 
the  love  that  '  seeketh  not  her  own '  ?  " 

Dolly  was  listening  earnestly,  Mr.  Eberstein  saw. 
Mrs.  Thayer  hesitated,  in  some  inward  disgust. 


38  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"Do  you  take  that  literally?"  she  said  then. 
"How  can  you  take  it  literally?  You  cannot." 

"  But  Christ  pleased  not  himself." 

"  Well,  but  he  was  not  like  us." 

"We  are  bidden  to  be  like  him,  though." 

"0  as  far  as  we  can.  But  you  cannot  press 
those  words  literally,  Mr.  Eberstein." 

"As  far  as  we  can?  I  must  press  them,  for  the 
Bible  does.  I  ask  no  more,  and  the  Lord  demands 
no  more,  than  that  we  be  like  our  Master  as  far  as 
tve  can.  And  he  'pleased  not  himself,'  and  're- 
ceived not  honour  from  men.' " 

"  If  you  were  to  preach  such  doctrine  in  schools, 
I  am  afraid  you  would  have  very  bad  recitations." 

"  Well," — said  Mr.  Eberstein.  "  Better  bad  reci- 
tations than  bad  hearts.  Though  really  there  is 
no  necessaiy  connection  between  my  premises  and 
your  conclusion.  The  Bible  reckons  'emulations,' 
Mrs.  Thayer,  in  the  list  of  the  worst  things  human 
nature  knows,  and  does." 

"  Then  you  would  have  a  set  of  dunces.  I  should 
just  like  to  be  told,  Mr.  Eberstein,  how  on  that  prin- 
ciple you  would  get  young  people  to  study.  In  the 
case  of  girls  you  cannot  do  it  by  beating;  nor  in 
the  case  of  boys,  after  they  have  got  beyond  being 
little  boys.  Then  emulation  comes  in,  and  they 
work  like  beavers  to  get  the  start  of  one  another. 
And  so  we  have  honours,  and  prizes,  and  distinc- 
tions. Take  all  that  away,  and  how  would  you 
do,  Mr.  Eberstein  ?  " 

Mr.  Eberstein  was  looking  fondly  into  a  pair  of 


CHRISTINA  AND  HER  MOTHER.          39 

young  eyes  that  were  fixedly  gazing  at  him.  So 
looking,  he  spoke, 

"There  is  another  sort  of  'Well  done!'  which  I 
would  like  my  Dolly  and  Miss  Christina  to  try  for. 
If  they  are  in  earnest  in  trying  for  that,  they  will 
study !  "  said  Mr.  Eberstein. 

Mrs.  Thayer  thought,  apparently,  that  it  was  no 
use  talking  on  the  subject  with  a  visionary  man ; 
and  she  turned  to  something  else.  The  party  left 
the  dinner-table,  and  Dolly  took  her  new  acquaint* 
ance  up  stairs  to  shew  her  the  treasure  contained 
in  Mrs.  Eberstein's  old  bookcase. 

"Mr.  Eberstein  is  rather  a  strange  man,  isn't 
he  ?  "  said  Miss  Christina  on  the  way. 

"  No,"  said  Dolly.  "  I  don't  think  he  is.  What 
makes  you  say  so  ?  " 

"  I  never  heard  any  one  talk  like  that  before." 

"Perhaps — "  said  Dolly,  stopping  short  on  the 
landing  place  and  looking  at  her  companion.  Then 
she  seemed  to  change  her  manner  of  attack.  "  Who 
do  you  want  to  please  most  ?  "  she  said. 

"  With  my  studies  ?     Why,  mamma,  of  course." 

"I  would  rather  please  the  Lord  Jesus,"  said 
Dolly. 

" But  I  was  talking  about  school  work"  retorted 
the  other.  "You  don't  suppose  HA  cares  about  our 
lessons  ?  " 

"  I  guess  he  does,"  said  Dolly.  They  were  still 
standing  on  the  landing  place,  looking  into  each 
other's  eyes. 

"  But  that's  impossible.    Think ! — French  lessons, 


40  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

and  English  lessons,  and  music  and  dancing,  and 
all  of  it.  That  couldn't  be,  you  know." 

"  Do  you  love  Jesus  ?  "  said  Dolly. 

"  Love  him  ?  I  do  not  know,"  said  Christina 
colouring.  "  I  am  a  member  of  the  church,  if  that 
is  what  you  mean." 

Dolly  began  slowly  to  go  up  the  remaining 
stairs.  "  I  think  we  ought  to  study  to  please  him," 
she  said. 

•  "I  don't  see  how  it  should  please  him,"  said  the 
other,  a  little  out  of  humour.  "  I  don't  see  how  he 
should  care  about  such  little  things." 

"  Why  not?  "  said  Dolly.  "  If  your  mother  cares, 
and  my  mother  cares.  Jesus  loves  us  better  than 
they  do,  and  I  guess  he  cares  more  than  they 
do." 

Christina  was  silenced  now,  as  her  mother  had 
been,  and  followed  Dolly  thinking  there  were  a. pair 
of  uncomfortably  strange  people  in  the  house.  The 
next  minute  Dolly  was  not  strange  at  all,  but  as 
much  a  child  as  any  of  her  fellows.  She  had  un- 
locked the  precious  bookcase,  and  with  the  zeal 
of  a  connoisseur  and  the  glee  of  a  discoverer  she 
was  enlarging  upon  the  treasures  therein  stowed 
away. 

"Here  is  'Henry  Milner,'"  she  said,  taking  down 
three  little  red  volumes.  "  Have  you  read  that  ? 

0  it  is  delightful!     I  like  it  almost  best  of  all. 
But  I  have  not  had  time  to  read  much  yet.     Here 
is  'Harry  and  Lucy,'  and  'Rosamond,'  and  'Frank.' 

1  have  just  looked  at  them.     And  '  Sandford  and 


CHRISTINA  AND  HER  MOTHER.         41 

Merton.'     0  do  you  know  '  Sandford  and  Merton '  ? 
I  have  just  read  that." 

"There  are  the  'Arabian  Nights,'"  said  Chris- 
tina. 

"Is  that  good?  I  haven't  read  much  yet.  I 
don't  know  almost  any  of  them." 

"  '  The  Looking  Glass ' " — Christina  went  on, — 
" '  Pity's  Gift '— •'  Father's  Tales '— " 

'  Those  are  beautiful,"  Dolly  put  in.  "  I  read 
one,  about  'Grandfather's  old  arm  chair.'  0  it's 
very  interesting." 

" '  Elements  of  Morality ' " — Christina  read  fur- 
ther on  the  back  of  a  brown  book. 

"That  don't  sound  good,  but  I  guess  it  is  good," 
said  Dolly.  "  I  just  peeped  in.  Arid  '  Evenings  at 
Home'  looks  pretty.  Here  is  'Kobinson  Crusoe,' 
and  '  Northern  Regions ' ;  I  want  to  read  that  very 
much.  I  guess  it's  delightful." 

"Have  you  ever  been  to  school  before?"  said 
Christina.  The  books  had  a  faint  interest  for  her. 

"No,"  said  Dolly. 

"Nor  have  I ;  but  1  know  somebody  who  has  been 
at  Mrs.  Delancy's,  and  she  says  there  is  one  lovely 
thing  at  that  school.  Every  month  they  go  some- 
where." 

"They  —  go  —  somewhere,"  Dolly  echoed  the 
words.  "Who  go?" 

"  Everybody ;  teachers  and  scholars  and  all. 
There  is  a  holiday ;  and  Mrs.  Delancy  takes  them 
all  to  see  something.  One  time  it  was  a  rope 
walk,  I  think;  and  another  time  it  was  a  paper 


42  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

mill;  and  sometimes  it's  a  picture  gallery.  It's 
something  very  interesting." 

"  I  suppose  we  are  not  obliged  to  go,  are  we  ?  if' 
we  don't  want  to  ?  " 

"  0  but  we  do  want  to.     1  do." 

"  I  would  just  as  lief  be  at  home  with  my  Aunt 
Harry,"  said  Dolly;  looking  lovingly  at  the  book- 
case. But  Christina  turned  away  from  it. 

"They  dress  a  great  deal  at  this  school,"  she 
said.  "  Does  your  mother  dress  you  a  great  deal  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Dolly.  "  I  don't  know  what 
you  mean." 

"  Well,  what's  your  school  dress?  what  is  it  made 
of?" 

"My  school  dress?  for  every  day?  It  is  grey 
poplin.  It  is  not  new." 

"  Poplin  will  do,  I  suppose,"  said  Christina. 
"  But  some  of  the  girls  wear  silk ;  old  silk  dresses, 
you  know,  but  really  handsome  still,  and  very 
stylish." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  'stylish'?"  said  Dolly. 

"Why  don't  you  know  what  'stylish'  means?" 

"No." 

Christina  looked  doubtfully  at  her  new  little  com- 
panion. Where  could  Dolly  have  come  from,  and 
what  sort  of  people  could  she  belong  to,  who  did 
not  know  that?  The  truth  was,  that  Dolly  being 
an  only  child  and  living  at  home  with  her  father 
and  mother,  had  led  a  very  childish  life  up  to  this 
time;  and  her  mother,  owing  to  some  invalidism, 
had  lately  been  withdrawn  from  the  gay  world  and 


CHRISTINA  AND  HER  MOTHER.          43 

its  doings.  So,  though  the  thing  was  greatly  upon 
her  mother's  heart,  the  word  had  never  made  it- 
self familiar  to  Dolly's  ear.  Christina  was  reassured 
however,  by  observing  that  the  little  girl's  dress 
was  quite  what  it  ought  to  be,  and  certainly  be- 
spoke her  as  belonging  to  people  who  "knew  what 
was  what."  So  the  practice  was  all  right,  and 
Dolly  needed  only  instruction  in  the  theory. 

"'Stylish,'" — she  repeated.  "It  means  —  It  is 
very  hard  to  tell  you  what  it  means.  Don't  you 
know  ?  '  Stylish,'  means  that  things  have  an  air 
that  belongs  to  the  right  kind  of  thing,  and  only 
what  you  see  in  a  certain  sort  of  people.  It  is  the 
way  things  look  when  people  know  how." 

"Know  how,  what?"  inquired  Dolly. 

"  Know  how  things  ought  to  be ;  how  they  ought 
to  be  worn,  and  how  they  ought  to  be  done." 

"Then  everybody  ought  to  be  stylish,"  said 
Dolly. 

"  Yes,  but  you  cannot,  my  dear,  unless  you  hap- 
pen to  know  how." 

"  But  I  should  think  one  could  always  know  how 
things  ought  to  be,"  Dolly  went  on.  "  The  Bible 
tells." 

"  The  Bible ! "  echoed  Christina. 

"Yes." 

"The  Bible  tell  one  how  to  be  stylish ! " 

"  The  Bible  tells  how  things  ought  to  be." 

"  Why  no  it  don't,  child !  the  Bible  don't  tell  you 
what  sort  of  a  hat  to  put  on." 

"  Yes,  it  does,  Christina.    The  Bible  says, '  Wheth- 


44  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

er  you  eat  or  drink,  or  whatsoever  you  do,  do  all  to 
the  glory  of  God.'  I  can  shew  you  the  words." 

"  0  that  is  something  quite  different.  That  has 
nothing  to  do  with  being  stylish.  How  shall  I 
make  you  understand  ?  If  your  cravat  wasn't  tied 
in  a  nice  bow  there,  it  wouldn't  be  stylish." 

"  Well,"  returned  Dolly,  "  it  wouldn't  be  to  the 
glory  of  God  either." 

"  What  has  that  to  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  would  be  wrong  for  a  Christian  to  be 
anything  but  nice." 

"  0  it  isn't  being  nice  !  "  said  Christina.  "  Your 
dress  wouldn't  be  stylish  if  it  hadn't  those  flounces.!' 

"  And  is  it  now  ?  " 

"  Yes — I  think  it  is.  I  should  say,  your  mother 
knows  what  is  what.  It  isn't  very  easy  to  be  sty- 
lish if  you  are  poor;  but  I've  seen  people  do  it, 
though." 

"  I  don't  think  I  understand,  quite,"  said  Dolly. 
"  But  when  I  am  old  enough  to  dress  myself, — to 
choose  my  own  dresses,  I  mean,  I  shall  dress  to 
please  Jesus,  Christina." 

"  You  can't,"  said  Christina.  "  I  never  heard  of 
such  a  thing.  It's  making  religion  little,  I  think, 
to  talk  so." 

"  I  think,  if  religion  isn't  little,  it'll  do  so,"  an- 
swered Dolly.  Whereby  each  kept  her  own  opin- 
ion; notwithstanding  which,  at  the  end  of  the 
afternoon  they  separated  mutually  pleased  each 
with  her  new  acquaintance. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE    MARINE    DICTIONARY. 

AS  the  weeks  of  the  first  school  term  went  on,  the 
two  girls  drew  nearer  to  each  other.  Every- 
body inclined  towards  Dolly  indeed;  the  sweet, 
fresh,  honest  little  face,  with  the  kindly  affections 
beaming  forth  from  it,  and  the  sensitive  nature 
quick  to  feel  pleasure  or  pain,  and  alive  to  fun  in 
the  midst  of  its  seriousness,  made  such  a  quaint 
mingling  and  such  a  curious  variety  and  such  a 
lovely  creature,  that  all  sorts  of  characters  were 
drawn  towards  her.  From  the  head  of  the  school 
down,  teachers  and  pupils,  there  was  hardly  one 
whose  eye  did  not  soften  and  whose  lips  did  not 
smile  at  Dolly's  approach.  With  Christina  on  the 
other  hand  it  was  not  just  so.  She  was  not  partic- 
ularly clever,  not  particularly  emotional,  not  spe- 
cially sociable;  calm  and  somewhat  impassive,  with 
all  her  fair  beauty  she  was  overlooked  in  the  prac- 
tical "  selection  "  which  takes  place  in  school  life ; 
so  that  little  Dolly  after  all  came  to  be  Christina's 
best  friend.  Dolly  never  passed  her  over ;  was  never 
unsympathetic ;  never  seemed  to  know  her  own  pop- 


46  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

ularity ;  and  Christina's  slow  liking  grew  into  a  real 
and  warm  affection  as  the  passing  days  gave  her 
more  and  more  occasion.  In  the  matter  of  "style," 
it  appears,  Dolly  had  enough  to  satisfy  her ;  thanks 
to  her  mother ;  for  Dolly  herself  was  as  unconven- 
tional in  spirit  and  manner  as  a  child  should  be. 
In  school  work  proper  on  the  other  hand,  she  was 
a  pattern  of  diligence  and  faithfulness;  gave  her 
teachers  no  trouble ;  of  course  had  the  good  word 
and  good  will  of  every  one  of  them.  Was  it  the 
working  of  Mr.  Eberstein's  rule  ? 

The  first  monthly  holiday  after  school  began  was 
spent  in  Falrmount  Park.  A  few  weeks  later,  Dolly 
and  Christina  were  sitting  together  one  day,  busy 
with  some  fancy  work,  when  one  of  their  school- 
mates came  up  to  them. 

"  Guess  where  we  are  going  next  week ! "  she 
cried. 

"  Next  week  ?  "  said  the  others,  looking  up. 

"Next  holiday — next  week, — next  Saturday. 
Yes.  Where  do  you  think  we  are  going?  just 
guess.  0  you  can't  guess." 

" I  can't  guess,"  said  Dolly;  "  I  don't  know  what 
there  is  to  go  to.  The  Mint  ?  Mrs.  Delancy  did 
speak  of  the  Mint." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it !  Something  else  has  come  up. 
Guess  again." 

"Something  has  come  up.  Then  it  must  be 
something  new." 

"It  isn't  new,  either.  Can't  a  thing  come  to 
you,  that  isn't  new  ?  " 


THE  MARINE  DICTIONARY.  47 

"  But  you're  talking  riddles,  Eudora,"  the  other 
two  said  laughing. 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you.  There's  a  man  of  war  come 
up  the  river." 

"  A  man  of  war  " — Dolly  repeated. 

"You  know  what  that  means,  I  hope,  Dolly 
Copley  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  It  means  a  soldier.  The  Bible 
says,  Goliath  was  a  man  of  war  from  his  youth." 

Dolly  as  she  spoke  looked  mystified,  and  her 
words  were  met  by  a  shout  of  laughter  so  loud 
and  ringing  that  it  almost  abashed  the  child.  Some 
other  girls  had  joined  the  group  and  were  stand- 
ing around,  and  there  were  many  to  laugh.  How- 
ever, Dolly  was  never  given  to  false  shame.  She 
waited  for  more  light. 

"  It's  a  s/izp,  Dolly,"  they  cried.  "You  dear  little 
innocent,  don't  you  know  as  much  as  that  ?  " 

"It's  a  ship;  and  this  is  a  big  one.  It  is  lying 
out  in  the  Delaware." 

"Then  why  is  it  called  a  man  of  war?"  said 
Dolly. 

"Because  it  is  a  war  ship.  Won't  it  be  fun! 
just  think ! — the  guns,  and  the  officers,  and  the 
midshipmen ! " 

"What  are  midshipmen?" 

"  I  don't  know ! "  cried  another.  "  They  are 
somebodies  that  are  always  on  a  man  of  war;  and 
they  are  young  too.  Baby  officers,  I  suppose." 

"They  are  officers,"  said  the  first  speaker. 

"  Xo,  they're  not.     They  are  learning  to  be  offi- 


48  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

cers.  They're  at  school,  and  their  school  is  a  man 
of  war;  and  their  teachers  are  the  captain,  and 
the  lieutenants,  and  so  on." 

"And  what  are  their  lessons  about?"  said  Dolly. 

"/don't  know.  0  they  are  learning  to  be  offi- 
cers, you  know.  Eeally  they  are  boys  at  school." 

"Some  of  them  are  old  enough,"  remarked  an- 
other. 

"Learning  what,  Eudora?"  said  Dolly. 

"How  do  I  know,  chicken?  I've  never  been  a 
midshipman  myself.  You  can  ask  them  if  you 
like,  when  we  go  on  board.  For  we  are  going 
on  board,  girls !  Hurrah !  We  shall  drive  over  to 
the  Navy  Yard,  and  there  we  shall  get  into  boats, 
and  then  we  shall  row, — I  mean  be  rowed, — out 
into  the  stream  to  the  ship.  It's  a  big  frigate,  the 
'Achilles';  and  Mrs.  Delancy  knows  the  captain; 
and  she  says  it's  a  good  chance  and  she  will  not 
have  us  lose  it.  Hurrah,  girls!  this  is  prime." 

"What's  &  frigate?"  was  Dolly's  next  question. 

"Dolly  Copley,  you  are  ridiculous;  you  want 
to  understand  every  thing." 

"Don't  you?" 

"  No !  1  guess  I  don't.  I  am  tired  enough  with 
trying  to  understand  a  little.  I'll  let  alone  what 
I  can.  You'll  know  what  a  frigate  is,  when  you 
have  been  on  board  of  her." 

"But  I  think  I  should  enjoy  it  a  great  deal 
more,  if  I  knew  beforehand,"  said  Dolly. 

"You  had  best  study  a  ship's  dictionary.  I  am 
going  to  study  what  I  shall  wear." 


THE  MARINE  DICTIONARY.  49 

"That  you  cannot  tell  yet,"  Christina  remarked. 
"  You  do  not  know  what  sort  of  a  day  next  Satur- 
day, I  mean,  Saturday  week,  will  be.  It  may  be 
cold,  or — " 

"  It  mayn't  be  hot,"  said  the  other.  "  It  will  be 
cold,  cold  enough.  It's  November.  You  can  wear 
your  prettiest  winter  things,  young  ladies." 

A  little  while  after,  the  group  had  broken  up, 
and  Dolly  sought  out  one  of  the  teachers  and 
begged  to  know  where  she  could  find  a  "ship's 
dictionary"? 

"  A  ship  dictionary  ?  My  dear,  there  is  no  such 
thing.  What  do  you  want  to  find  out?" 

"One  of  the  girls  said  I  could  find  out  about 
ships  in  a  ship's  dictionary.  We  are  going  to  see 
a  man  of  war  next  week." 

"Oh,  and  you  want  to  study  up  the  subject? 
It  is  a  Marine  Dictionary  you  are  in  quest  of. 
Come  to  the  library." 

The  library  was  always  open  to  the  girls  for 
study  purposes.  The  teacher  was  good-natured, 
and  got  out  a  big,  brown  square  volume,  and  put 
it  in  Dolly's  hand.  Dolly  had  been  followed  by 
Christina;  and  now  the  two  sat  down  together 
in  a  window  recess  on  the  floor,  with  the  book 
before  them.  Dolly  began  at  the  beginning,  and 
aloud. 

"  ' Aback '— " 

"  That  is  nothing  we  want,"  remarked  Christina. 

"  0  yes,  I  think  it  is.  It  is  '  the  situation  of  the 
sails  when  their  surfaces  are  flatted  against  the 


50  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

masts  by  the  force  of  the  wind.'  I  do  not  under- 
stand, though.  'The  sails  are  said  to  be  "taken 
aback' — 0  I  have  heard  mother  say  that.  What 
could  she  mean?  I  have  heard  her  say  she  was 
taken  aback." 

"  I  have  heard  people  say  that  too,"  said  Chris- 
tina; "often.  I  never  knew  what  they  meant. 
Something  disagreeable,  I  think." 

"Well  you  see,"  said  Dolly,  reading  further, 
"it  'pushes  the  ship  astern' — what's  that?  'See 
'Backing.1  I  suppose  it  means  pushing  it  back. 
But  I  don't  understand ! "  the  little  girl  added 
with  a  sigh. 

"  0  well !  we  don't  care  about  all  that,"  said 
Dolly's  companion.  "Go  on  to  something  else. 
Find  out  about  the  midshipmen." 

"  What  about  the  midshipmen  ?  " 

"Nothing, — only  I  would  like  to  know  what 
they  are.  Madeleine  said  they  were  young  offi- 
cers; very  young;  not  older  than  some  of  us." 

"  Then  why  do  you  want  to  know  about  them  ?  " 
said  Dolly.  "  We  have  nothing  to  do  with  young 
officers.  We  don't  know  any  of  them." 

"  But  we  might,"  suggested  Christina.  "  We 
shall  see  them,  if  we  go  on  board  the  ship." 

"I  don't  care  about  seeing  them,"  said  Dolly. 
"  Young  officers  are  young  men,  I  suppose.  I  un- 
derstand them;  what  I  don't  know  about,  is  the 
ship.  Let  us  go  on  in  this  book,  and  see  what  we 
come  to.  'Abaft — the  hinder  part  of  a  ship ' — " 

"0  Dolly,"  cried  Christina,  "we  have  not  time 


THE  MARINE  DICTIONARY.  51 

to  go  through  everything  in  this  way.  You  have 
not  turned  over  one  leaf  yet  Do  get  on  a  little." 

"  It  is  good  it's  a  holiday,"  said  Dolly,  turning 
the  leaf.  "We  have  plenty  of  time.  I  like  this 
book.  'Aboard, — the  inside  of  a  ship.'  So  when 
we  go  into  the  ship,  we  go  aboard.  That's  it." 

"Go  on,"  urged  Christina.     "Here's  'Admiral.'" 

" '  An  officer  of  first  rank  and  command  in  the 
fleet.'  There  is  a  great  deal  here  about  the  ad- 
miral. I  don't  believe  we  shall  see  him.  We'll 
look  a  little  further." 

Dolly  presently  was  caught  by  the  word  "Anch- 
or" and  lost  herself  in  the  study  of  the  para- 
graphs following,  and  the  plate  accompanying; 
after  which  she  declared  that  she  understood  how 
a  ship  could  be  held  by  its  anchor.  Urged  to  go 
on  again,  she  turned  over  more  leaves,  but  got  lost 
in  the  study  of  "boats" ;  then  of  "cannon"  ;  then 
of  the  "captain"  's  office  and  duties;  finally  paused 
at  the  plate  and  description  of  a  ship's  deck. 

"  It's  just  the  deck  of  a  ship !  "  said  Christina  im- 
patiently. "  You  will  see  it  when  we  go  on  board 
the  'Achilles.'" 

"  I  want  to  understand  it."  v 

"  You  can't." 

"Are  those  guns?"  said  Dolly,  pointing  to  a  row 
of  pieces  delineated  along  the  side  of  the  deck. 

"  Must  be  guns." 

"  Well,  I  should  like  to  go  on  board  of  a  ship 
very  much,"  said  Dolly.  "  There  are  twelve  guns 
on  that  side.  If  there  are  the  same  on  this  side, 


52  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

that  would  make  twenty-four.  What  do  they 
want  so  many  for,  Christina,  on  one  ship  ? " 

"  Why,  to  fight  with,  of  course.  To  fire  at  other 
ships." 

"  But  what  do  they  want  of  so  many  ?  They 
would  not  want  to  fire  twelve  at  once.  I  should 
think  one  would  be  enough." 

*  Perhaps  it  wouldn't.  Go  on,  Dolly,  do !  let  us 
get  to  something  else." 

It  was  difficult  to  get  Dolly  on.  She  was  held 
fast  again  by  the  description  of  a  naval  engage- 
ment; then  fell  to  studying  the  directions  for  the 
"exercise"  of  the  guns;  then  was  interested  in 
some  plates  giving  various  orders  of  the  line  of 
battle.  At  last  in  due  course  they  came  to  the 
word  "Midshipman"  which  was  read,  or  the  article 
under  it,  by  both  girls. 

" '  A  naval  cadet ' — "  repeated  Christina. 

"  And  a  cadet  must  be  four  years  at  sea,  before 
he  can  become  a  lieutenant;  and  two  years  mid- 
shipman besides.  I  should  think  they  would  be 
tired  of  it." 

"But  if  they  are  going  to  be  sailors  all  their 
lives,  it's  no  use  for  them  to  get  tired  of  it,"  said 
Christina. 

"  They  come  on  shore  sometimes,  don't  they  ?  " 

"I  suppose  so.  0  yes,  they  have  houses,  I  know, 
and  wives  and  children.  I  shouldn't  like  to  be  the 
wife  of  a  sailor ! " 

"  Somebody  must,  I  suppose,"  said  Dolly.  "  But 
I  shouldn't  like  to  have  my  home — my  principal 


THE  MARINE  DICTIONARY.  53 

home,  I  mean — on  the  sea;  if  I  was  a  man.  They 
must  like  it,  I  suppose." 

Dolly  went  on  reading. 

"  The  midshipmen  have  plenty  to  do,  Christina. 
They  have  to  learn  how  to  do  everything  a  com- 
mon sailor  does;  all  the  work  of  the  ship;  and  then 
they  must  learn  astronomy,  and  geometry,  and 
navigation  and  mechanics.  Hydrostatics,  too;  oh 
dear,  I  don't  know  what  that  is.  I  can  look  it  out, 
I  suppose.  The  midshipmen  must  be  very  busy, 
Christina,  and  at  hard  work  too." 

Christina's  interest  in  the  Marine  Dictionary 
was  exhausted.  She  went  off;  but  Dolly  pored 
over  its  pages  still,  endeavouring  to  take  in  details 
about  vessels,  and  ropes,  and  sails,  and  winds,  until 
her  head  was  in  a  fog.  She  recurred  to  the  book 
however  on  the  next  opportunity;  and  from  time 
to  time,  as  her  lessons  permitted,  gave  her  time 
and  attention  to  this  seemingly  very  unnecessary 
subject.  How  much  she  really  learned,  is  doubt- 
ful; yet  as  little  things  do  touch  and  link  them- 
selves with  great  things,  it  may  be  that  the  old 
Marine  Dictionary  in  Mrs.  Delancy's  library  played 
a  not  insignificant  part  in  the  fortunes  of  Dolly 
Copley.  As  we  shall  see.  She  studied,  till  a  ship 
became  a  romance  to  her;  till  rigging  and  spars 
and  decks  and  guns  were  like  the  furniture  of  a 
new  and  strange  life,  which  hardly  belonged  to 
the  earth,  being  upon  the  sea;  and  the  men  who 
lived  that  life,  and  especially  the  men  who  ruled 
in  it,  grew  to  be  invested  with  characteristics  of 


54  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

power  and  skill  and  energy  which  gave  them  fab- 
ulous interest  in  Dolly's  eyes.  • 

At  home  there  had  been  a  little  scruple  about 
letting  Dolly  join  the  party.  She  had  had  a  cold, 
and  was  rather  delicate  at  all  times.  The  scruples 
however  gave  way  before  the  child's  earnest  wish; 
and  as  Saturday  of  the  particular  week  turned  out 
mild  and  quiet,  no  hindrance  was  put  in  the  way 
of  the  expedition. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

THE    "ACHILLES." 

IT  was  a  very  special  delectation  which  the  school 
were  to  enjoy  to-day.  The  girls  thought  it 
always  "  fun,"  of  course,  to  quit  lessons  and  go  to 
see  anything;  "even  factories,"  as  one  of  the  girls 
expressed  it,  to  Dolly's  untold  astonishment;  for 
it  seemed  to  her  that  to  be  allowed  to  look  into  the 
mystery  of  manufactures  must  be  the  next  thing 
to  taking  part  personally  in  a  fairy  tale.  How- 
ever, to-day  it  was  not  a  question  of  manufactures, 
but  of  a  finished  and  furnished  big  ship,  and  not 
only  finished  and  furnished,  but  manned.  "  This 
is  something  lively,"  Eudora  opined.  And  she  was 
quite  right. 

The  day  was  a  quiet  day  in  November,  with 
just  a  spice  of  frost  in  it ;  the  air  itself  was  lively, 
quick  and  quickening.  The  party  were  driven  to 
the  Navy  Yard  in  carriages,  and  there  received 
very  politely  by  the  officers,  some  of  whom  knew 
Mrs.  Delancy  and  lent  themselves  with  much 
kindness  to  the  undertaking.  The  girls  were 
more  or  less  excited  with  pleasure  and  anticipa- 


56  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

tion;  but  to  Dolly  the  Navy  Yard  seemed  to  be 
already  touching  the  borders  of  that  mysterious 
and  fascinating  sea  life  in  which  her  fancy  had 
lately  been  roaming.  So  when  the  girls  were  all 
carefully  bestowed  in  stout  little  row  boats  to  go 
out  to  the  ship,  Dolly's  foot  it  was  which  stepped 
upon  enchanted  boards,  and  her  eye  that  saw  an 
enchanted  world  around  her.  What  a  field  was 
this  rippling  water,  crisped  with  the  light  breeze, 
and  gurgling  under  the  boat's  smooth  sweep 
ahead !  How  the  oars  rose  and  fell,  all  together, 
as  if  moved  by  only  one  hand.  Was  this  a  part 
of  the  order  and  discipline  of  which  she  had  read 
lately,  as  belonging  to  this  strange  world?  Prob- 
ably ;  for  now  and  then  a  command  was  issued  to 
the  oarsmen,  curt  and  sharp;  and  obeyed,  Dolly 
saw,  although  she  did  not  know  what  the  com- 
mand meant.  Yes,  she  was  in  an  enchanted 
sphere ;  and  she  looked  at  the  "  Achilles "  as  they 
drew  nearer,  with  profoundest  admiration.  Its 
great  hulk  grew  large  upon  her  view,  with  an 
absolute  haze  of  romance  and  mystery  hang- 
ing about  its  decks  and  rigging.  It  was  a  large 
ship,  finely  equipped,  according  to  the  fashion  of 
naval  armament  which  was  prevalent  in  those 
days;  she  was  a  fine  frigate;  and  the  port  holes 
of  her  guns  looked  in  threatening  ranks  along 
the  sides  of  the  vessel.  Still  and  majestic  she  lay 
upon  the  quiet  river;  a  very  wonderful  floating 
home  indeed,  and  unlike-  all  else  she  had  ever 
known,  to  Dolly's  apprehension.  How  she  and 


THE  "ACHILLES."  57 

the  rest  were  ever  to  get  on  board  was  an  in- 
soluble problem  to  her,  as  to  most  of  them;  and 
the  chair  that  was  presently  lowered  along  the 
ship's  side  to  receive  them,  seemed  a  very 'preca- 
rious sort  of  means  of  transport.  However,  the 
getting  aboard  was  safely  accomplished;  one  by 
one  they  were  hoisted  up;  and  Dolly's  feet  stood 
upon  the  great  main  deck.  And  the  first  view 
was  perfectly  satisfactory,  and  even  went  far  be- 
yond her  imaginings.  She  found  herself  standing 
under  a  mixed  confusion  of  masts  and  spars  and 
sails,  marvellous  to  behold,  which  yet  she  also 
saw  was  no  confusion  at  all,  but  complicated  and 
systematic  order.  How  much  those  midshipmen 
must  have  to  learn,  though,  if  they  were  to  know 
the  names  and  uses  and  handling  of  every  spar 
and  every  rope  and  each  sail  among  them !  as 
Dolly  knew  they  must.  Her  eye  came  back  to 
the  deck.  What  order  there  too ;  what  neatness ; 
why  it  was  beautiful ;  and  the  uniforms  here  and 
there,  and  the  sailors'  hats  and  jackets,  filled  up 
the  picture  to  her  heart's  desire.  Dolly  breathed 
a  full  breath  of  satisfaction. 

The  Captain  of  the  "  Achilles  "  made  his  appear- 
ance ;  Captain  Barbour.  He  was  a  thick-set,  grizzly 
haired  man,  rather  short ;  not  handsome  at  all ;  and 
yet  with  an  air  of  authority  unmistakeable  cloth- 
ing him  like  a  garment  of  power  and  dignity. 
Plainly  this  man's  word  was  law,  and  the  girls 
stood  in  awe  of  him.  He  was  known  to  Mrs. 
Delancy;  and  now  she  went  on  to  present  for- 


58  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

mally  all  her  young  people  to  him.  The  captain 
returned  the  courtesy  by  calling  up  and  intro- 
ducing to  her  and  them  some  of  his  officers;  and 
then  they  went  to  a  review  of  the  ship. 

It  took  a  long  while.  Between  Mrs.  Delancy 
and  Captain  Barbour  a  lively  conversation  was 
carried  on ;  Dolly  thought  he  was  explaining 
things  to  the  lady  that  she  did  not  understand; 
but  though  it  might  be  the  case  now  and  then, 
I  think  the  talk  moved  mainly  upon  less  technical 
matters.  Dolly  could  not  get  near  enough  to  hear 
what  it  was,  at  any  rate.  The  young  lieutenants, 
too,  were  taken  up  with  playing  the  host  to  the 
older  young  ladies  of  the  party.  If  they  received  in- 
struction also  by  the  way,  Dolly  could  not  tell ;  the 
laughing  hardly  looked  like  it.  She  and  the  other 
young  ones  at  any  rate  followed  humbly  at  the 
tail  of  everything,  and  just  came  up  to  a  clear  view 
of  some  detail  when  the  others  were  moving  away. 
There  was  nobody  to  help  Dolly  understand  any- 
thing; nevertheless,  she  wandered  in  a  fairy  vision 
of  wonderland.  Into  the  cabins,  down  to  the  fore- 
castle, down  to  the  gun  deck.  What  could  equal 
the  black  strangeness  of  that  view !  and  what  could 
it  all  mean  ?  Dolly  wished  for  her  Uncle  Edward, 
or  some  one,  to  answer  a  thousand  questions.  She 
had  been  reading  about  the  guns;  she  looked  curi- 
ously now  at  the  realities,  of  which  she  had  stud- 
ied the  pictures ;  recognized  here  a  detail  and  there 
a  detail,  but  remaining  hugely  ignorant  of  the 
whole  and  of  the  bearing  of  the  several  parts  upon 


THE  "ACHILLES."  59 

each  other.  Yet  she  did  not  know  how  time  flew; 
she  did  not  know  that  she  was  getting  tired ;  from 
one  strange  thing  to  another  she  followed  her 
leaders  about;  very  much  alone  indeed,  for  even 
the  other  girls  of  her  own  age  were  staring  at  a 
different  class  of  objects,  and  could  hardly  be  said 
to  see  what  she  saw,  much  less  were  ready  to  ask 
what  she  wanted  to  ask.  Dolly  went  round  in  a 
confused  dream. 

At  last  the  party  had  gone  everywhere  that  such 
a  party  could  go;  Captain  Barbour  had  spared 
them  the  lower  gun  deck.  They  came  back  to 
the  captain's  cabin,  where  a  very  pleasant  lunch 
was  served  to  the  ladies.  It  was  served,  that  is, 
to  those  who  could  get  it;  to  those  who  were  near 
enough  and  old  enough  to  put  in  a  claim  by  right 
of  appearance.  Dolly  and  one  or  two  more  who 
were  undeniably  little  girls  stood  a  bad  chance, 
hanging  about  on  the  outskirts  of  the  crowd,  for 
the  cabin  would  not  take  them  all  in ;  and  hearing  a 
distant  sound  of  clinking  glass  and  silver  and  words 
of  refreshment.  It  was  all  they  seemed  likely  to 
get;  and  when  a  kindly  elderly  officer  had  taken 
pity  on  the  child  and  given  Dolly  a  biscuit,  she 
concluded  to  resign  the  rest  of  the  unattainable 
luncheon  and  make  the  most  of  her  other  opportu- 
nities while  she  had  them.  Eating  the  biscuit, 
which  she  was  very  glad  of,  she  wandered  off  by 
herself,  along  the  deck;  looking  again  carefully  at 
all  she  saw;  for  her  eyes  were  greedy  of  seeing. 
Sails, — what  strange  shapes;  and  how  close  rolled 


60  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

up  some  of  them  were !  Hopes, — what  a  multi- 
tude; and  cables.  Coils  of  them  on  deck;  and  if 
she  looked  up,  an  endless  tracery  of  lines  seen 
against  the  blue  sky.  There  was  a  sailor  going 
up  something  like  a  rope  ladder;  going  up  and  up; 
how  could  he  ?  and  how  far  could  he  go  ?  Dolly 
almost  grew  dizzy  gazing  at  him. 

"What  are  you  looking  after,  little  one?"  a  voice 
near  her  asked.  An  unceremonious  address,  cer- 
tainly ;  frankly  put ;  but  the  voice  was  not  unkindly 
Or  uncivil,  and  Dolly  was  not  sensitive  on  the  point 
of  personal  dignity.  She  brought  her  eyes  down 
for  a  moment  far  enough  to  see  the  shimmer  of 
gold  lace  on  a  midshipman's  cap,  and  answered, 

"  I  am  looking  at  that  man.  He's  going  up  and 
up,  to  the  top  of  everything !  I  should  think  his 
head  would  turn." 

"Yours  will,  if  you  look  after  him  with  your 
head  in  that  position." 

Dolly  let  her  eyes  come  now  to  the  speaker's 
face.  One  of  the  young  midshipmen  it  was,  stand- 
ing near  her,  with  his  arms  folded  and  leaning 
upon  something  which  served  as  a  support  to 
them,  and  looking  down  at  Dolly.  For  standing 
so  and  leaning  over,  he  was  still  a  good  deal  taller 
than  she.  Further,  Dolly  observed  a  pair  of  level 
brows,  beneath  them  a  pair  of  wise-looking,  cog- 
nisance-taking blue  eyes,  an  expression  of  steady 
calm,  betokening  either  an  even  temperament  or 
an  habitual  power  of  self-control;  and  just  now  in 
the  eyes  and  the  mouth  there  was  the  play  almost 


THE  "ACHILLES."  61 

of  a  smile,  somewhat  merry,  wholly  kindly.  It  took 
Dolly's  confidence  entirely  and  at  once. 

"You  don't  think  you  would  like  to  be  a  sailor?" 
he  went  on. 

"Is  it  pleasant?"  said  Dolly,  retorting  the  ques- 
tion earnestly  and  doubtfully. 

The  smile  broke  a  little  more  on  the  other's  face. 
"  How  do  you  like  the  ship  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Dolly  glancing  along  the 
deck.  "  I  think  it  is  a  strange  place  to  live." 

"Why?" 

"And  I  don't  understand  the  use  of  it,"  Dolly 
went  on  with  a  really  puzzled  face. 

"  The  use  of  what  ?  " 

"  The  use  of  the  whole  thing.  I  know  what  ships 
are  good  for,  of  course;  other  ships;  but  what  is 
the  use  of  such  a  ship  as  this  ?  " 

"  To  take  care  of  the  other  ships." 

"How?" 

"  Have  you  been  below  ?  Did  you  see  the  gun 
decks?" 

"  I  was  in  a  place  where  there  were  a  great  many 
guns — but  I  could  not  understand,  and  there  was 
nobody  to  tell  me  things." 

"  Would  you  like  to  go  down  there  again  ?  " 

"0  yes!"  said  Dolly.  "They  will  be  a  good 
while  at  lunch  yet.  O  thank  you !  I  should  like 
so  much  to  go." 

The  young  midshipman  took  her  hand ;  perhaps- 
he  had  a  little  sister  at  home  and  the  action  was 
pleasant  and  familiar;  it  seemed  to  be  both;  and 


62  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

led  her  down  the  way  that  took  them  to  the  upper 
gun  deck. 

"  How  comes  it  you  are  not  taking  lunch  too  ?  " 
he  asked  by  the  way. 

"0  there  are  too  many  of  them,"  said  Dolly 
contentedly.  "  I  don't  care.  I  had  a  biscuit." 

"  You  don't  care  for  your  lunch  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  do,  when  I'm  hungry;  but  now  I  would 
rather  see  things.  I  never  saw  a  ship  before." 

They  arrived  in  the  great,  gloomy,  black  gun 
deck.  The  midshipman  let  go  Dolly's  hand,  and 
she  stood  and  looked  along  the  avenue  between 
the  bristling  black  cannon. 

"  Now,  what  is  it  that  you  don't  understand  ?  " 
he  asked,  watching  her. 

"  What  are  these  guns  here  for  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  know  that  ?    Guns  are  to  fight  with." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Dolly;  "but  how  can  you 
fight  with  them  here  in  a  row  ?  and  what  would 
you  fight  with?  I  mean,  who  would  you  fight 
against  ?  " 

"Some  other  ship,  if  Fate  willed  it  so.  Look 
here ;  this  is  the  way  of  it." 

He  took  a  letter  from  the  breast  of  his  coat,  tore 
off  a  blank  leaf;  then  resting  it  on  the  side  of  a 
gun  carriage,  he  proceeded  to  make  a  sketch. 
Dolly's  eyes  followed  his  pencil  point,  spell-bound 
with  interest.  Under  his  quick  and  ready  fingers 
grew,  she  could  not  tell  how,  the  figure  of  a  ship, 
— hull,  masts,  sails  and  rigging,  deftly  sketched 
in;  till  it  seemed  to  Dolly  she  could  almost  see 


THE  "ACHILLES."  63 

how  the  wind  blew  that  was  filling  out  the  sails 
and  floating  off  the  streamer. 

"There,"  said  the  artist, — "that  is  our  enemy." 

"  Our  enemy  ?  "  repeated  Dolly. 

"  Our  supposed  enemy.  We  will  suppose  she  is 
an  enemy." 

"  But  how  could  she  be  ?  " 

"We  might  be  at  war  with  England  suppose, 
or  with  France.  This  might  be  an  English  ship 
of  war  coming  to  catch  up  every  merchantman  she 
could  overhaul  that  carried  American  colours,  and 
make  a  prize  of  her;  don't  you  see  ?  " 

"  Do  they  do  that  ?  "  said  Dolly. 

"What?  catch  up  merchantmen?  of  course  they 
do;  and  the  more  of  value  is  on  board,  the  better 
they  are  pleased.  We  lose  so  much,  and  they 
gain  so  much.  Now  we  want  to  stop  this  fellow's 
power  of  doing  mischief;  you  understand." 

"  What  are  those  little  black  spots  you  are  mak- 
ing along  her  sides." 

"  The  port  holes  of  her  guns." 

"  Port  holes—?  " 

"The  openings  where  the  mouths  of  her  guns 
look  out.  See,"  said  he,  pointing  to  the  one 
near  which  they  were  standing, — "that  is  a  port 
hole." 

"  That  little  window  ?  " 

"  It  isn't  a  windoAv;  it  is  a  port  hole." 

"  It  is  not  a  black  spot." 

"  Because  you  are  inside,  and  looking  out  tow- 
ards the  light.  Look  at  them  when  you  are  leav- 


64  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

ing  the  ship ;  they  will  look  like  black  spots  then, 
you  will  find." 

"  Well,  that's  the  enemy,"  said  Dolly,  drawing  a 
short  breath  of  excitement.  "What  is  that  ship 
you  are  making  now  ?  " 

"That's  the  'Achilles';  brought  to;  with  her 
main  topsails  laid  aback,  and  her  fore  topsails 
full;  ready  for  action." 

"I  do  not  know  what  are  topsails  or 'fore  top- 
sails," said  Dolly. 

The  midshipman  explained;  to  illustrate  his  ex- 
planation sketched  lightly  another  figure  of  a  ves- 
sel, shewing  more  distinctly  the  principal  sails. 

"And  this  is  the  'Achilles,'"  said  Dolly,  recur- 
ring to  the  principal  design.  "You  have  put  her 
a  great  way  off  from  the  enemy,  it  seems  to  me." 

"  No.     Point  blank  range.     Quite  near  enough." 

"  O  what  is  '  point  blank  range '  ?  "  cried  Dolly 
in  despair.  Her  new  friend  smiled,  but  answered 
with  good  humoured  patience.  Dolly  listened  and 
comprehended. 

"Then,  if  this  were  an  enemy,  and  that  the 
'Achilles,'  and  within  point  blank  range,  you 
would  load  one  of  these  guns  and  fire  at  her  ? " 

The  midshipman  shook  his  head.  "  We  should 
load  up  all  of  them — all  on  that  side." 

"And  five  them  one  after  another?" 

"As  fast  as  we  could.  We  should  give  her  a 
broadside.  But  we  should  probably  give  her  one 
broadside  after  another." 

"  Suppose  the  balls  all  hit  her  ?  " 


THE  "ACHILLES."  65 

"  Yes,  you  may  suppose  that.  I  should  like  to 
suppose  it,  if  I  were  the  officer  in  command." 

"  What  would  they  do  to  her  ? — to  that  enemy 
ship  ?  " 

"  If  they  all  hit  ?  Hinder  her  from  doing  any 
more  mischief." 

"How?" 

"  Break  her  masts,  tear  up  her  rigging,  make  a 
wreck  of  her  generally.  Perhaps  sink  her." 

"But  suppose  while  you  are  fighting  that  she 
fights  too  ?  " 

"  Extremely  probable." 

"If  a  shot  came  in  here — could  it  come  in 
here?" 

"Certainly.  Cannon  balls  will  go  almost  any- 
where." 

"  If  it  came  in  here,  what  would  it  do  ?  " 

"  Kill  three  or  four  of  the  men  at  a  gun,  per- 
haps ;  tear  away  a  bit  of  the  ship's  side ;  or  perhaps 
disable  the  gun." 

"While  you  were  firing  at  the  enemy  on  this 
side,  the  guns  of  the  other  side,  I  suppose,  would 
have  nothing  to  do  ?  " 

"  They  might  be  fighting  another  enemy  on 
that  side,"  said  the  midshipman  smiling. 

"  I  should  think,"  said  Dolly,  looking  down  the 
long  line  of  the  gun  deck,  and  trying  to  imagine 
the  state  of  things  described, — "  I  should  think  it 
would  be  most  dreadful !  " 

"  I  have  no  doubt  you  would  think  so." 

"  Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 
5 


66  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  I  have  never  been  in  action  yet." 

"  Don't  you  hope  you  never  will  ?  " 

The  young  man  laughed  a  little.  "  What  would 
be  the  use  of  ships  of  war,  if  there  were  never 
any  fighting  ?  I  should  have  nothing  to  do  in  the 
world." 

"You  might  do  something  else,"  said  Dolly, 
gazing  at  the  lines  of  black  guns  stretching  along 
both  sides  of  the  deck,  so  near  to  each  other,  so 
black,  so  grim.  "How  many  men  does  it  take  to 
manage  each  gun  ?  You  said  three  or  four  might 
be  killed." 

"According  to  the  size  of  the  gun.  Twelve 
men  for  these  guns;  larger  would  take  fifteen." 

Again  Dolly  meditated;  in  imagination  peopled 
the  solitary  place  with  the  active  crowd  of  men 
which  would  be  there  if  each  gun  had  twelve  gun- 
ners, filled  the  silence  with  the  roar  of  combined 
discharges,  thought  of  the  dead  and  wounded ;  at 
last  turned  her  eyes  to  the  blue  ones  that  were 
watching  her. 

"  I  wonder  if  God  likes  it  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Likes  what  ?  "  said  the  midshipman  in  wonder. 

" Such  work.     I  don't  see  how  he  can" 

"How  can  you  help  such  work?  People  can- 
not get  along  without  fighting." 

He  did  not  speak  carelessly  or  mockingly  or 
banteringly;  rather  with  a  gentle,  somewhat  de- 
liberate utterance.  Yet  Dolly  was  persuaded  there 
was  no  unmanly  softness  in  him ;  she  never  doubt- 
ed but  that  he  would  be  ready  to  do  his  part  in 


THE  "ACHILLES."  67 

that  dreadful  work,  if  it  must  be  done.  More- 
over, he  was  paying  to  this  odd  little  girl  a  deli- 
cate sort  of  respect  and  treating  her  with  great 
consideration.  Her  confidence,  as  I  said,  had 
been  entirely  given  to  him  before;  and  now  some 
gratitude  began  to  mingle  with  it,  along  with 
great  freedom  to  speak  her  mind. 

"  I  don't  think  God  can  like  it,"  she  repeated. 

"  What  would  you  do,  then  ?  "  he  also  repeated, 
smiling.  ' '  Let  wicked  people  have  their  own  way  ?  " 

"No—." 

"If  they  are  not  to  have  their  own  way,  you 
must  stop  them." 

"  I  think  this  is  a  dreadful  way  of  stopping  them." 

"  It's  a  bad  job  for  the  side  that  goes  under,"  the 
young  officer  admitted. 

"  I  don't  believe  God  likes  it,"  Dolly  concluded 
for  the  third  time,  with  great  conviction. 

"  Is  that  your  rule  for  everything  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Isn't  it  your  rule  ?  " 

"  I  have  to  obey  orders,"  he  answered,  watching 
her. 

"Don't  you  obey  his  orders?"  said  Dolly  wistfully. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  they  are." 

"0,  but  they  are  in  the  Bible.  You  can  find 
them  in  the  Bible." 

"  Does  it  say  anything  about  fighting  ?  " 

Dolly  tried  to  think,  and  got  confused.  Certain- 
ly it  did  say  a  good  deal  about  fighting,  but  in  va- 
rious ways,  it  seemed  to  her.  She  did  not  know 
how  to  answer.  She  changed  the  subject. 


68  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"How  do  you  get  the  shot,  the  balls,  I  mean, 
into  these  guns  ?  I  don't  see  how  you  get  at  them. 
The  mouths  are  out  of  the  windows.  Port  holes, 
I  mean." 

For  the  upper  gun  deck  had  been  put  to  a  cer- 
tain extent  in  order  of  action,  and  the  guns  were 
run  out. 

"  You  are  of  an  inquiring  disposition,"  said  the 
midshipman  gravely. 

"Ami?" 

"I  think  you  are." 

"  But  I  should  like  to  know, —  "  pursued  Dolly, 
looking  at  the  muzzle  of  the  gun  by  which  they 
were  standing. 

"  The  guns  would  be  run  in  to  be  loaded." 

Dolly  looked  at  the  heavy  piece  of  metal,  and  at 
him,  but  did  not  repeat  her  question. 

"  Now  you  want  to  know  how,"  he  said  smiling. 
"If  I  were  captain,  I  would  have  the  men  here 
and  shew  you.  The  gun  is  run  in  by  means  of 
this  tackle, — see? — and  when  it  is  charged,  it  is 
bowsed  out  again." 

Seeing  Dolly's  wise  grave  eyes  bent  upon  the 
subject,  he  went  on  to  amuse  her  with  a  full  detail 
of  the  exercise  of  the  gun;  from  "casting  loose," 
to  the  finishing  "secure  your  guns";  explaining 
the  manner  of  handling  and  loading,  and  the  use 
of  the  principal  tackle  concerned.  Dolly  listened, 
intent,  fascinated,  enchained;  and  I  think  the  young 
man  was  a  little  fascinated  too,  though  his  atten- 
tions were  given  to  so  very  young  a  lady.  Dolly's 


THE  "  ACHILLES."  69 

brown  eyes  were  so  utterly  pure  and  grave  and 
unconscious;  the  brain  at  work  behind  them  was 
so  evidently  clear  and  busy  and  competent;  the 
pleasure  she  shewed  was  so  unschoolgirl-like,  and 
he  thought  so  unchildlike,  and  at  the  same  time  so 
very  far  from  being  young-lady-like.  What  she 
was  like,  he  did  not  know;  she  was  an  odd  little 
apparition  there  in  the  gun  deck  of  the  "Achilles," 
leaning  with  her  elbows  upon  a  gun  carriage,  and 
surveying  with  her  soft  eyes  the  various  parapher- 
nalia of  conflict  and  carnage  around  her.  Contrast 
could  hardly  be  stronger. 

"  Suppose,"  said  Dolly  at  last,  "  a  shot  should 
make  a  hole  in  the  side  of  the  ship,  and  let  in  the 
water?" 

"  Well  ?     Suppose  it,"  he  answered. 

"  Does  that  ever  happen  ?  " 

"  Quite  often.     Why  not  ?  " 

"  What  would  you  do  then  ?  " 

"  Pump  out  the  water  as  fast  as  it  came  in, — if 
we  could." 

"  Suppose  you  couldn't  ?  " 

"  Then  we  should  go  down." 

"And  all  in  the  ship?" 

"All  who  could  not  get  out  of  it." 

"  How  could  any  get  out  of  it  ?  " 

"In  the  boats." 

"Oh!— I  forgot  the  boats.  Would  they  hold 
everybody  ?  " 

"  Probably  not.  The  other  ships'  boats  would 
come  to  help/' 


70  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"The  officers  would  go  first,  I  suppose?" 

"  Last.  The  highest  officer  of  all  would  be  the 
last  man  on  board." 

"Why?" 

"  He  must  do  his  duty.  If  he  cannot  save  his 
ship,  at  least  he  must  save  his  men; — all  he  can. 
He  is  there  to  do  his  duty." 

"  I  think  it  would  be  better  not  to  be  there  at 
all,"  said  Dolly  very  gravely. 

"  Who  would  take  care  of  you  then,  if  an  ene- 
my's fleet  were  coming  to  attack  Philadelphia?" 
said  the  young  officer. 

"  I  would  go  home,"  said  Dolly.  "  I  don't  know 
what  would  become  of  Philadelphia.  But  I  do  not 
think  God  can  like  it." 

"Shall  we  go  above,  where  it  is  more  cheerful? 
or  have  you  seen  it  all  ?  " 

Dolly  gave  him  her  hand  again  and  let  him  help 
her  till  they  got  on  deck.  There  they  went  roam- 
ing towards  the  fore  part  of  the  vessel,  looking  at 
everything  by  the  way;  Dolly  asking  the  names 
and  the  meaning  of  things,  and  receiving  explana- 
tions, especially  regarding  the  sails  and  rigging 
and  steering  of  the  ship.  She  was  even  shewn 
where  the  sailors  made  their  home  in  the  fore- 
castle. As  they  were  returning  aft,  Dolly  stopped 
by  a  coil  of  rope  on  deck  and  began  pulling  at 
an  end  of  it.  Her  companion  inquired  what  she 
wanted? 

"I  would  like  a  little  piece,"  said  Dolly;  "if  I 
could  get  it." 


THE  "ACHILLES."  71 

"  A  piece  of  rope  ?  " 

"Yes; — -just  a  little  bit;  but  it  is  very  strong;  it 
won't  break." 

She  was  tugging  at  a  loose  strand. 

"How  large  a  bit  do  you  want?" 

"0  just  a  little  piece,"  said  Dolly.  "I  wanted 
just  a  little  piece  to  keep — but  it's  no  matter.  I 
wanted  to  keep  it." 

"  A  keepsake  ?  "  said  the  young  man.  "  To  re- 
member us  by  ?  They  are  breaking  up," — he  add- 
ed immediately,  casting  his  glance  aft,  where  a 
stir  and  a  gathering  and  a  movement  on  deck  in 
front  of  the  captain's  cabin  could  now  be  seen, 
and  the  sound  of  voices  came  fresh  along  the 
breeze.  "  They  are  going, — there  is  no  time  now. 
I  will  send  you  a  piece,  if  you  will  tell  me  where 
I  can  send  it.  Where  do  you  live  ?  " 

"0  will  you?  0  thank  you!"  said  Dolly,  and 
her  face  lifted  confidingly  to  the  young  officer 
grew  sunny  with  pleasure.  "I  live  at  Mrs.  De- 
lancy's  school ; — but  no,  I  don't !  I  don't  live  there. 
My  home  is  at  Uncle  Edward's — Mr.  Edward 
Eberstein — in  Walnut  St." 

"What  number?"  said  the  midshipman,  using 
his  pencil  again  on  the  much  scribbled  piece  of 
paper;  and  Dolly  told  him. 

"  And  whom  shall  I  send  the — the  piece  of  rope, 
to?" 

"0  yes! — Dolly  Copley.  That  is  my  name. 
Good  bye,  I  must  go." 

"Dolly  Copley.     You   shall   have   it,"   said   he, 


72  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

giving  the  little  hand  she  held  out  to  him  a  right 
sailorly  grasp.  And  Dolly  ran  away.  In  the  bus- 
tle and  anxiety  of  getting  lowered  into  the  little 
boat  again  she  forgot  him  and  everything  else; 
however,  so  soon  as  she  was  safely  seated  and  just 
as  the  men  were  ordered  to  "give  way,"  she 
looked  up  at  the  great  ship  they  were  leaving; 
and  there,  just  above  her,  leaning  on  the  guards 
and  looking  over  and  down  at  her,  she  saw  her 
midshipman  friend.  Dolly  saw  nothing  else  till 
his  face  was  too  small  in  the  distance  to  be  any 
longer  recognized. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  PIECE  OF  ROPE. 

IT  was  Saturday  and  holiday,  and  Dolly  went 
home  to  her  aunt's.  There  her  aunt  and  un- 
cle, as  was  natural,  expected  a  long  story  of  the 
morning's  experience.  And  Dolly  one  would  think 
might  have  given  it ;  matter  for  the  detail  was  not 
wanting ;  yet  she  seemed  to  have  little  to  tell.  On 
the  other  hand  she  had  a  great 'deal  to  ask.  She 
wanted  to  know  why  people  could  not  do  all  their 
fighting  on  land?  why  ships  of  war  were  neces- 
sary? Mr.  Eberstein  tried  to  explain  that  there 
might  be  great  and  needful  advantages  attendant 
upon  the  use  of  them.  Then  Dolly  begged  for  in- 
stances. Had  we,  Americans,  ever  fought  at  sea? 
Mr.  Eberstein  answered  that,  and  gave  her  details 
of  facts,  while  Mrs.  Eberstein  sat  by  silent  and 
watched  Dolly's  serious,  meditative  face. 

"  I  should  think,"  said  Dolly,  "  that  when  there 
is  a  fight,  a  ship  of  war  would  be  a  very  dreadful 
place." 

"  There  is  no  doubt  of  that,  my  little  girl,"  said 
Mr.  Eberstein.  "Take  the  noise,  and  the  smoke, 
the  packed  condition  of  one  of  those  gun  decks, 


74  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

and  the  every  now  and  then  coming  in  of  a  round 
shot,  crashing  through  planks  and  timbers,  splin- 
tering what  comes  in  its  way,  and  stretching  half 
a  dozen  men  at  once,  more  or  less,  on  the  floor  in 
dead  and  wounded, — I  think  it  must  be  as  good  a 
likeness  of  the  infernal  regions  as  earth  can  give — 
in  one  way  at  least." 

"In  what  way  ? "  Dolly  asked  immediately. 

"Confusion  of  pain  and  horror.     Not  wicked- 


"  Uncle  Ned,  do  you  think  God  can  like  it  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Then  isn't  it  wicked  ?  " 

"No,  little  one;  not  necessarily.  No  sort  of 
pain  or  suffering  can  be  pleasing  to  God ;  we  know 
it  is  not;  yet  sin  has  made  it  necessary,  and  he 
often  sends  it." 

"  Don't  he  always  send  it  ?  " 

"Why  no.  Some  sorts  people  bring  on  them- 
selves by  their  own  folly  and  perverseness ;  and 
some  sorts  people  work  on  others  by  their  own 
wicked  self-will.  God  does  not  cause  that,  though 
he  will  overrule  it  to  do  what  he  wants  done." 

"Uncle  Ned,  do  you  think  we  shall  ever  have 
to  use  our  ships  of  war  again  ?  " 

"  We  are  using  them  all  the  time.  We  send 
them  to  this  place  and  that  place  to  protect  our 
own  people  and  their  merchant  vessels  and  their 
commerce  from  interference  and  injury." 

"  No,  but  I  mean,  in  fighting.  Do  you  think  we 
shall  ever  have  to  send  them  to  fight  again  ?  " 


THE  PIECE  OF  ROPE.  75 

"  Probably." 

"  To  fight  whom  ?  " 

"That  I  don't  know." 

"Then  why  do  you  say  'probably'?" 

"Because  human  nature  remains  what  it  was, 
and  will  no  doubt  do  the  same  work  in  the  future 
that  it  has  done  from  the  beginning." 

"  Why  is  fighting  part  of  that  work,  Uncle 
Ned?" 

"Ah,  why!  Greed,  which  wants  what  is  the 
right  of  others;  pride,  which  resents  even  a  fan- 
cied interference  with  its  own ;  anger,  which  cries 
for  revenge;  these  are  the  reasons." 

Dolly  looked  very  deeply  serious. 

"  Why  do  you  care  so  much  about  it,  Dolly  ? " 
her  aunt  asked  at  length,  after  a  meditative  pause 
of  several  minutes. 

"  I  would  be  sorry  to  have  the  '  Achilles '  go  into 
battle,"  said  Dolly;  and  a  perceptible  slight  shud- 
der passed  over  her  shoulders. 

"  Is  the  '  Achilles '  so  much  to  you,  just  because 
you  have  seen  her  ?  " 

"No—"  said  Dolly  thoughtfully;  "it  isn't  the 
ship;  it's  the  people." 

"  Oh ! — But  what  do  you  know  of  the  people  ?  " 

"  I  saw  a  good  many  of  them,  Aunt  Harry." 

Politic  Dolly !  She  had  really  seen  only  one. 
Yet  she  had  no  idea  of  being  politic;  and  why 
she  did  not  say  whom  she  had  seen  and  what  rea- 
son she  had  for  being  interested  in  him,  I  cannot 
tell  you. 


76  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

From  that  time  Dolly's  reading  took  a  new  turn. 
She  sought  out  in  the  bookcases  everything  that 
related  to  sailors  and  ships,  and  especially  naval 
warfare,  and  simply  devoured  it.  The  little  life  of 
Lord  Nelson,  by  Southey,  in  two  small  calf-bound 
volumes,  became  her  darling  book.  Better  than 
any  novel,  for  it  was  true,  and  equal  to  any  novel 
for  its  varied,  picturesque,  passionate,  stirring  life 
story.  Dolly  read  it,  till  she  could  have  given  you 
at  any  time  an  accurate  and  detailed  account  of 
any  one  of  Nelson's  great  battles ;  and  more  than 
that,  she  studied  the  geography  of  the  lands  and 
waters  thereby  concerned,  and  where  possible  the 
topography  also.  I  suppose  the  "Achilles"  stood 
for  a  model  of  all  the  ships  in  which  successively 
the  great  commander  hoisted  his  flag ;  and  if  the 
hero  himself  did  not  take  the  form  and  features  of 
a  certain  American  midshipman,  it  was  probably 
because  there  was  a  likeness  of  the  subject  of  the 
Memoir  opposite  to  the  title-page ;  and  the  rather 
plain,  rather  melancholy,  rather  feeble  traits  of  the 
English  naval  captain  could  by  no  effort  of  imag- 
ination be  confounded  with  the  quiet  strength  and 
gentle  manliness  which  Dolly  had  found  in  the 
straight  brows  and  keen  blue  eyes  and  kindly  smile 
of  her  midshipman  friend.  That  would  not  do. 
Nelson  was  not  like  him,  nor  he  like  Nelson ;  but 
Dolly  had  little  doubt  but  he  would  do  as  much, 
if  he  had  occasion.  In  that  faith  she  read  on ;  and 
made  every  action  lively  with  the  vision  of  those 
keen-sighted  blue  eyes  and  firm  sweet  mouth  in 


THE  PIECE  OF  ROPE.  77 

the  midst  of  the  smoke  of  battle  and  the  confusion 
of  orders  given  and  received.  How  often  the  Life 
of  Nelson  was  read,  I  dare  not  say ;  nor  with  what 
reneAved  eagerness  the  Marine  Dictionary  and  its 
plates  of  ships  and  cannon  were  studied  and 
searched.  From  that,  Dolly's  attention  was  ex- 
tended to  other  books  which  told  of  the  sea  and 
of  life  upon  it,  even  though  the  life  were  not 
warlike.  Captain  Cook's  voyages  came  in  for  a 
large  amount  of  favour;  and  Cooper's  "Afloat  and 
Ashore,"  which  happened  about  this  time  to  fall 
into  Dolly's  hands,  was  devoured  with  a  hunger 
which  grew  on  what  it  fed  on.  Nobody  knew; 
she  had  ceased  to  talk  on  naval  subjects;  and  it 
was  so  common  a  thing  for  Dolly  to  be  swallowed 
up  in  some  book  or  other  whenever  she  was  at 
home,  that  Mrs.  Eberstein's  curiosity  was  not 
excited. 

Meanwhile  school  days  and  school  work  went 
on,  and  week  succeeded  week,  and  everybody  but 
Dolly  had  forgotten  all  about  the  "  Achilles " ; 
when  one  day  a  small  package  was  brought  to 
the  door  and  handed  in  "for  Miss  Dolly  Copley." 
It  was  a  Saturday  afternoon.  Dolly  and  her  aunt 
were  sitting  comfortably  together  in  Mrs.  Eber- 
stein's work  room  up  stairs,  and  Mr.  Eberstein  was 
there  too  at  his  secretary. 

"For  me?"  said  Dolly,  when  the  servant  brought 
the  package  in.  "  It's  a  box !  Aunt  Harry,  what 
can  it  be  ?  " 

"  Open  and  see,  Dolly." 


78  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

Which  Dolly  did  with  an  odd  mixture  of  haste 
and  deliberation  which  amused  Mrs.  Eberstein. 
She  tore  off  nothing,  and  she  cut  nothing;  pa- 
tiently knots  were  untied  and  papers  unfolded, 
though  Dolly's  fingers  trembled  with  excitement. 
Papers  taken  off  shewed  a  rather  small  paste- 
board box;  and  the  box  being  opened  revealed 
coil  upon  coil,  nicely  wound  up,  of  a  beautifully 
wrought  chain.  It  might  be  a  watch  chain ;  but 
Dolly  possessed  no  watch. 

"What  is  it,  Aunt  Harry?"  she  said  in  won- 
dering pleasure  as  the  coils  of  the  pretty  woven 
work  fell  over  her  hand. 

"  It  looks  like  a  watch  chain,  Dolly.  What  is  it 
made  of?" 

Mrs.  Eberstein  inspected  the  work  closely  and 
could  not  determine. 

"  But  who  could  send  me  a  watch  chain  ?  "  said 
Dolly. 

"  Somebody ;  for  here  is  your  name  very  plainly 
on  the  cover,  and  on  the  paper." 

"The  boy  is  waiting  for  an  answer,  miss." 

"Answer?  To  what?  I  don't  know  whom  to 
answer,"  said  Dolly. 

"There's  a  note,  miss." 

"A  note?  where? — 0  here  is  a  note,  Aunt 
Harry,  in  the  bottom  of  the  box.  I  did  not 
see  it." 

"From  whom,  Dolly?" 

Dolly  did  not  answer.  She  had  unfolded  the 
note,  and  now  her  whole  face  was  wrinkling  up 


THE  PIECE  OF  ROPE.  79 

with  pleasure  or  fan ;  she  did  not  hear  or  heed  her 
aunt's  question.  Mrs.  Eberstein  marked  how  her 
colour  rose  and  her  smile  grew  sparkling ;  and  she 
watched  with  not  a  little  curiosity  and  some  im- 
patience till  Dolly  should  speak.  The  little  girl 
looked  up  at  last  with  a  face  all  dimples. 

"  0  Aunt  Harry !  it's  my  piece  of  rope." 

"  Your  piece  of  rope,  my  dear  ?  " 

"Yes;  I  wanted  a  piece  of  rope;  and  this  is  it." 

"  That  is  not  a  piece  of  rope." 

"Yes,  it  is;  it  is  made  of  it.  I  could  not  think 
what  it  was  made  of;  and  now  I  see.  Isn't  it 
beautifully  made  ?  He  has  picked  a  piece  of  rope 
to  pieces,  and  woven  this  chain  of  the  threads; 
isn't  it  beautiful?  And  how  kind!  How  kind 
he  is." 

"  Who,  Dolly?     Who  has  done  it?" 

"  0,  the  midshipman,  Aunt  Harry." 

"  The  midshipman.  What  one  ?  You  didn't  say 
anything  about  a  midshipman." 

"  I  saw  him  though,  and  he  said  he  would  send 
me  a  piece  of  rope.  I  wanted  a  piece,  Aunt  Harry, 
to  remember  the  ship  by;  and  I  could  not  break 
a  bit  oiF,  though  I  tried;  then  he  saw  me  try- 
ing, and  it  was  just  time  to  go,  and  he  said  he 
would  get  it  and  send  it  to  me.  I  thought  he 
had  forgotten  all  about  it;  but  here  it  is!  I  am 
so  glad." 

"  My  dear,  do  you  call  that  a  piece  of  rope  ?  " 

"Why  yes,  Aunt  Harry;  it  is  woven  out  of  a 
piece  of  rope.  He  has  picked  the  rope  apart  a  ad 


80  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

made  this  chain  of  the  threads.  I  think  he  is  very 
clever." 

"  Who,  my  dear  ?    Who  has  done  it,  Dolly  ?  " 

"The  midshipman,  Aunt  Harry." 

"  What  midshipman  ?  " 

"  On  the  '  Achilles.'     I  saw  him  that  day." 

"  Did  you  see  only  one  midshipman  ?  " 

"No;  I  suppose  I  saw  a  good  many.  I  didn't 
notice  any  but  this  one." 

"  And  he  noticed  you,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Yes,  a  little  "—said  Dolly. 

"  Did  he  notice  nobody  beside  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  Aunt  Harry.  Not  that  time,  for 
I  was  alone." 

"  Alone !  Where  were  all  the  rest,  and  Mrs. 
Delancy  ?  " 

"  Eating  lunch  in  the  captain's  cabin." 

"  Did  you  have  no  lunch  ?  " 

"  I  had  a  biscuit  one  of  the  officers  gave  me." 

"  And  have  you  got  a  note  there  from  the  mid- 
shipman ?  " 

"  Yes,  Aunt  Harry." 

"What  does  he  say?" 

Dolly  unfolded  the  note  again  and  looked  at  it 
with  great  consideration;  then  handed  it  to  Mrs. 
Eberstein.  Mrs.  Eberstein  read  aloud. 

"'  Ship  "Achilles ," 
" '  Dec.  5,  18—. 

" '  Will  Miss  Dolly  Copley  please  send  a  word  to 
say  that  she  has  received  her  piece  of  cable  safe  ? 


THE  PIECE  OF  ROPE.  81 

I  thought  she  would  like  it  best  perhaps  in  a  man- 
ufactured form ;  and  I  hope  she  will  keep  it  to  re- 
member the  "  Achilles  "  by,  and  also 

'"A.  CROWNINSHIELD.' " 

"What's  all  that?"  demanded  Mr.  Eberstein  now 
from  his  secretary.  Mrs.  Eberstein  bit  her  lips  as 
she  answered, 

"  Billetdoux." 

"  Aunt  Harry,"  said  Dolly  now  doubtfully,  "must 
I  write  an  answer  ?  " 

"  Edward,"  said  Mrs.  Eberstein,  "  shall  I  let  this 
child  write  a  note  to  a  midshipman  on  board  the 
4  Achilles '  ?  What  do  you  think  ?  Come  and  coun- 
sel me." 

Mr.  Eberstein  left  his  writing,  informed  himself 
of  the  circumstances,  read  "A.  Crowninshield's" 
note,  and  gave  his  decision. 

"  The  '  Achilles '  ?  0  yes,  I  know  Captain  Bar- 
bour  very  well.  It's  all  right,  I  guess.  I  think 
Dolly  had  better  write  an  answer,  certainly." 

So  Dolly  fetched  her  writing  materials.  Her 
aunt  looked  for  some  appeals  for  advice  now  on 
her  part;  but  Dolly  made  none.  She  bent  over  her 
paper  with  an  earnest  face,  a  little  flushed;  but  it 
seemed  she  was  in  no  uncertainty  what  to  say  or 
how  to  say  it.  She  did  not  offer  to  shew  her  fin- 
ished note  to  Mrs.  Eberstein;  I  think  it  did  not 
occur  to  her;  but  in  the  intensity  of  her  concentra- 
tion Dolly  only  thought  of  the  person  she  was 
writing  to  and  the  occasion  which  made  her  write. 


82  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

Certainly  she  would  have  had  no  objection  that 
anybody  should  see  what  she  wrote.  The  simple 
words  ran  as  follows, 

"MR.  CKOWNINSHIELD, 

"  I  have  got  the  chain,  and  I  think  it  is  beau- 
tiful, and  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you.  I  mean 
to  keep  it  and  wear  it  as  long  as  I  live.  You  are 
very  kind. 

"  DOLLY  COPLEY." 

The  note  was  closed  and  sent  off;  and  with  that 
Dolly  dismissed  the  subject,  so  far  at  least  as  words 
were  concerned;  but  Mrs.  Eberstein  watched  her 
still  for  some  time  handling  and  examining  the 
chain,  passing  it  through  her  fingers,  and  regard- 
ing it  with  a  serious  face  and  yet  an  expression  in 
the  eyes  and  on  the  lips  that  was  almost  equiva- 
lent to  a  smile. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  it,  Dolly?" 
Mrs.  Eberstein  asked  at  length,  wishing  to  get  into 
the  child's  thoughts. 

"I'll  keep  it,  Aunt  Harry.  And  when  I  have 
anything  to  wear  it  with,  I  will  wear  it.  When  I 
am  old  enough,  I  mean." 

"What  did  you  do  to  that  young  fellow,  to  make 
him  shew  you  such  an  attention  ?  " 

"  Do  to  him  ?  I  didn't  do  anything  to  him,  Aunt 
Harry ! " 

"It  was  very  kind  of  him,  wasn't  it?" 

"  Very  kind.     I  guess  he  is  kind,"  said  Dolly. 


THE  PIECE  OF  ROPE.  83 

"Maybe  we  shall  see  him  again  one  of  these 
days,  and  have  a  chance  to  thank  him.  The  mid- 
shipmen get  leave  to  come  on  shore  now  and  then." 

But  no  such  chance  offered.  The  "Achilles" 
sailed  out  of  those  waters,  and  her  place  in  the 
river  was  empty. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

END  OF  SCHOOL  TERM. 

DOLLY'S  school  life  is  not  further  of  importance 
in  this  history ;  or  no  further  than  may  serve 
to  fill  out  the  picture  already  given  of  herself.  A 
few  smooth  and  uneventful  years  followed  that  first 
coming  to  Philadelphia ;  not  therefore  unfruitful  be- 
cause uneventful;  perhaps  the  very  contrary.  The 
little  girl  made  her  way  among  her  fellow  pupils 
and  the  teachers,  the  masters  and  mistresses,  the 
studies  and  drills  which  busied  them  all,  with  a 
kind  of  sweet  facility;  such  as  is  born  everywhere, 
I  suppose,  of  good  will.  Whoever  got  into  scrapes, 
it  was  never  Dolly  Copley;  whoever  was  chidden 
for  imperfect  recitations,  such  rebukes  never  fell  on 
her ;  whoever  might  be  suspected  of  mischief,  such 
suspicion  could  not  rest  for  a  moment  on  the  fair, 
frank  little  face  and  those  grave  brown  eyes.  The 
most  unpopular  mistress  had  a  friend  in  Dolly;  the 
most  refractory  schoolgirl  owned  to  a  certain  influ- 
ence which  went  forth  from  her;  the  most  uncom- 
fortable of  her  companions  found  soothing  in  her . 
presence.  People  who  are  happy  themselves  can 


END  OF  SCHOOL  TERM.          t      85 

drop  a  good  deal  of  oil  on  the  creaking  machin- 
ery around  them,  and  love  is  the  only  manufactory 
where  the  oil  is  made. 

With  all  this  smooth  going,  it  may  be  supposed 
that  Dolly's  progress  in  knowledge  and  accomplish- 
ments would  be  at  least  satisfactory;  and  it  was 
more  than  that.  She  prospered  in  all  she  under- 
took. The  teacher  of  mathematics  said  she  had  a 
good  head  for  calculation ;  the  French  mistress  de- 
clared nature  had  given  her  a  good  ear  and  accent; 
the  dancing  master  found  her  agile  and  graceful  as 
a  young  roe ;  the  drawing  master  went  beyond  all 
these  and  averred  that  Miss  Copley  would  distin- 
guish him  and  herself.  "  She  has  an  excellent  man- 
ner of  handling,  madame,"  he  said, — "and  she  has 
an  eye  for  colour,  and  she  will  have  a  style,  that 
will  be  distinguished."  Moreover,  Dolly's  voice  was 
sweet  and  touching  and  promised  to  be  very  ef- 
fective. 

So  things  went  on  at  school;  and  at  home  each 
day  bound  faster  the  loving  ties  which  united  her 
with  her  kind  protectors  and  relations.  Every 
week  grew  and  deepened  the  pleasure  of  the  in- 
tercourse they  held  together.  Those  were  happy 
years  for  all  parties.  Dolly  had  become  rather 
more  talkative,  without  being  less  of  a  bookworm. 
Vacations  were  sometimes  spent  with  her  mother 
and  father,  though  not  always,  as  the  latter  were 
sometimes  travelling.  Dolly  missed  nothing;  Mrs. 
Eberstein's  house  had  come  to  be  a  second  home. 

All  this  while  the  "Achilles"  had  never  been 


86  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

heard  of  again  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Philadel- 
phia. Neither,  though  Dolly  I  am  bound  to  say 
searched  faithfully  all  the  lists  of  ship's  officers 
which  were  reported  in  any  American  ports,  did 
she  ever  so  much  as  see  the  name  of  A.  Crown- 
inshield.  She  always  looked  for  it,  wherever  a 
chance  of  finding  it  might  be;  she  never  found  it. 

Such  was  the  course  of  things,  until  Dolly  had 
reached  her  seventeenth  year  and  was  half  through 
it.  Then,  in  the  spring,  long  before  school  term 
ended,  came  a  sudden  summons  for  her.  Mr.  Cop- 
ley had  received  the  appointment  of  a  consulship 
in  London;  he  and  his  family  were  about  to  trans- 
fer themselves  immediately  to  this  new  sphere  of 
activity,  and  Dolly  of  course  must  go  along.  Her 
books  were  hastily  fetched  from  school,  her  clothes 
packed  up ;  and  Dolly  and  her  kind  friends  in  Wal- 
nut Street  sat  together  the  last  evening  in  a  very 
subdued  frame  of  mind. 

"  I  don't  see  what  your  father  wanted  of  a  con- 
sulship, or  anything  else  that  would  take  him  out 
of  his  country ! "  Mr.  Eberstein  uttered  his  rather 
grumbling  complaint.  "  He  has  enough  to  satisfy 
a  man  without  that." 

"But  what  papa  likes  is  precisely  something  to 
take  him  out  of  the  country.  He  likes  change  " — 
said  Dolly  sorrowfully. 

"  He  won't  have  much  change  as  American  con- 
sul in  London,"  Mr.  Eberstein  returned.  "  Business 
will  pin  him  pretty  close." 

"I  suppose  it  will  be  a  change  at  first,"  said 


END  OF  SCHOOL  TERM.  87 

Dolly;  "and  then,  when  he  gets  tired  of  it,  he  will 
give  it  up  and  take  something  else." 

"And  you,  little  Dolly,  you  are  accordingly  to 
be  shoved  out  into  the  great,  great  world,  long  be- 
fore you  are  ready  for  it." 

"  Is  the  world  any  bigger  over  there  than  it  is 
on  this  side  ?  "  said  Dolly,  with  a  gleam  of  fun. 

"  Well,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Eberstein.  "  Most  people 
think  so.  And  London  is  a  good  deal  bigger  than 
Philadelphia." 

"The  world  is  very  much  alike  all  over,"  re- 
marked Mrs.  Eberstein;  "in  one  place  a  little 
more  fascinating  and  dangerous,  in  another  a  lit- 
tle less." 

"  Will  it  be  more  or  less,  over  there,  for  me, 
Aunt  Harry  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  '  more '  for  you  anywhere,  Dolly, 
soon.  Why  you  are  between  sixteen  and  seven- 
teen ;  almost  a  woman ! "  Mrs.  Eberstein  said  with 


"No,  not  yet,  Aunt  Harry.  I'll  be  a  girl  yet 
awhile.  I  can  be  that  in  England,  can't  I,  as  well 
as  here  ?  " 

"Better,"  said  Mr.  Eberstein. 

"But  the  world,  nevertheless,  is  a  little  bigger 
out  there,  Ned,"  his  wife  added. 

"In  what  way,  Aunt  Harry?  And  what  do  you 
mean  by  '  the  world '  anyhow  ?  " 

"  I  mean  what  the  Lord  was  speaking  of,  when 
he  said  to  his  disciples,  '  If  ye  were  of  the  world, 
the  world  would  love  his  own ;  but  because  ye  are 


88  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

not  of  the  world,  but  I  have  chosen  you  out  of  the 
world,  therefore  the  world  hateth  you.'  " 

"  That  means,  bad  people  ?  " 

"Some  of  them  are  by  no  means  bad  people. 
Some  of  them  are  delightful  people." 

"  Then  I  do  not  quite  understand,  Aunt  Harry. 
I  thought  it  meant  not  only  bad  people,  but  gay 
people;  pleasure  lovers." 

"Aren't  you  a  lover  of  pleasure,  Dolly  ?  " 

"  0  yes.  But  Aunt  Harry,"  Dolly  said  seriously, 
"  I  am  not  a  '  lover  of  pleasures  more  than  a  lover 
of  God.'" 

"  No ;  thanks  to  his  goodness !  However,  Dolly, 
people  may  be  just  as  worldly  without  seeking 
pleasures  at  all.  It  isn't  that." 

"  What  is  it,  then  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  put  it.     Ned,  can  you  ?  " 

"Why  Hal,"  said  Mr.  Eberstein  pondering,  "it 
comes  to  about  this,  I  reckon.  There  are  just  two 
kingdoms  in  the  world;  upon  earth  I  mean." 

"Yes.  Well?  I  know  there  are  two  kingdoms, 
and  no  neutral  ground.  But  what  is  the  dividing 
line?  That  is  what  we  want  to  know." 

"  If  there  is  no  neutral  ground,  it  follows,  that 
the  border  line  of  one  kingdom  is  the  border  line 
of  the  other.  To  go  out  of  one,  is  to  go  into  the 
other." 

"Well?     Yes.     That's  plain." 

"Then  it  is  simple  enough.  What  belongs  to 
Christ,  or  what  is  done  for  him  or  in  his  service, 
belongs  to  his  kingdom.  Of  course,  what  is  not 


END  OF  SCHOOL  TERM.  89 

Christ's,  nor  is  done  for  him,  nor  in  his  service,  be- 
longs to  the  world." 

There  was  a  silence  here  of  some  duration ;  and 
then  Dolly  exclaimed,  "I  see  it.  I  shall  know 
now." 

"What,  Dolly?" 

"How  to  do,  Aunt  Harry." 

"  How  to  do  what  ?  " 

"  Everything.  I  was  thinking  particularly  just 
then — ;|  Dolly  hesitated. 

"  Yes,  of  what  ?  " 

"  Of  dressing  myself." 

"  Dressing  yourself,  you  chicken  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Aunt  Harry.  I  see  it.  If  I  do  not  dress 
for  Christ,  I  do  it  for  the  world." 

"Don't  go  into  another  extreme  now,  Dolly." 

"  No,  Aunt  Harry.  I  cannot  be  wrong,  can  I, 
if  I  do  it  for  Christ  ?  " 

"I  wonder  how  many  girls  of  sixteen  in  the 
country  have  such  a  thought?  And  I  wonder, 
how  long  will  you  be  able  to  keep  it,  Dolly  ? " 

"Why  not,  Aunt  Harry?" 

"0  child,  because  you  have  got  to  meet  the 
world." 

"  What  will  the  world  do  to  me  ? "  Dolly  asked 
half  laughing  in  her  simple  ignorance. 

"  When  I  think  what  it  will  do  to  you,  Dolly,  I 
am  ready  to  break  my  heart.  It  will  tempt  you, 
child.  It  will  tempt  you  with  beauty,  and  with 
pleasant  things;  pleasant  things  that  look  so 
harmless !  and  it  will  seek  to  persuade  you  with 


90  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

sweet  voices  and  with  voices  of  authority;  and  it 
will  shew  you  everybody  going  one  way,  and  that 
not  your  way." 

"But  I  will  follow  Christ,  Aunt  Hal." 

"Then  you  will  have  to  bear  reproach." 

"  I  would  rather  bear  the  world's  reproach,  than 
His." 

"If  you  don't  get  over-persuaded,  child,  or  deaf- 
ened with  the  voices !  " 

"  She  will  have  to  do  like  the  little  girl  in  the 
fairy  tale,"  said  Mr.  Eberstein;  "stuif  cotton  in 
her  ears.  The  little  girl  in  the  fairy  tale  was 
going  up  a  hill  to  get  something  at  the  top — 
what  was  she  going  for,  that  was  at  the  top  of  the 
hill?—" 

"  I  know !  "  cried  Dolly.  "  I  remember.  She 
was  going  for  three  things.  The  Singing  bird 
and  the  Golden  water,  and — I  forget  what  the 
third  thing  was." 

"Well,  you  see  what  that  means,"  Mr.  Eber- 
stein went  on.  "She  was  going  up  the  hill  for 
the  Golden  water  at  the  top ;  and  there  were  ten 
thousand  voices  in  her  ears  tempting  her  to  look 
round;  and  if  she  looked,  she  would  be  turned  to 
stone.  The  road  was  lined  with  stones,  which  had 
once  been  pilgrims.  You  see,  Dolly?  Her  only 
way  was  to  stop  her  ears." 

"I  see,  Uncle  Ned." 

"  What  shall  Dolly  stop  her  ears  with  ? "  asked 
Mrs.  Eberstein. 

"These  words  will   do.     'Whether  ye   eat,   or 


END  OF  SCHOOL  TERM.  91 

drink,  or  whatsoever  ye  do,   do  all  to  the  glory 
of  God.'" 

There  was  little  more  talking,  for  as  the  evening 
drew  on,  the  heaviness  of  the  parting  weighed  too 
hard  upon  all  hearts.  The  next  day  Dolly  made 
the  journey  to  Boston,  and  from  there  to  her  par- 
ents' house;  and  her  childhood's  days  were  over. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

PLAYTHINGS. 

DOLLY  did  not  know  that  her  childhood  was 
over.  Every  pulse  of  her  happy  little  heart 
said  the  contrary,  when  she  found  herself  again 
among  her  old  haunts  and  was  going  the  rounds 
of  them,  the  morning  after  her  return  home.  She 
came  in  at  last  to  her  mother,  flushed  and  warm. 

"Mother,  what  are  we  going  away  for?"  she 
be^an. 

"  Your  father  knows.  I  don't.  Men  never  know 
when  they  are  well  off." 

"  Do  women  ?  " 

"  I  used  to  think  so." 

"  Is  it  as  pleasant  in  England  as  it  is  here  ?  " 

"Depends  on  where  you  are  placed,  I  suppose, 
and  how  you  are  placed.  How  can  I  tell  ?  1  have 
never  been  in  England." 

"  Mother,  we  have  got  the  prettiest  little  calf  in 
the  barn  that  you  ever  saw." 

"  In  the  barn !  A  queer  place  for  a  calf  to  be, 
it  seems  to  me." 

"Yes,  because  they  want  to  keep  it  from  the 


PLAYTHINGS.  93 

cow.  Johnson  is  going  to  rear  it,  he  says.  I  am 
so  glad  it  is  not  to  be  killed !  It  is  spotted,  moth- 
er ;  all  red  and  white ;  and  so  prettily  spotted !  " 

An  inarticulate  sound  from  Mrs.  Copley,  which 
might  mean  anything. 

"And  mother,  I  have  been  getting  the  eggs. 
And  Johnson  has  a  hen  setting.  We  shall  have 
chickens  pretty  soon." 

"  Dolly  Copley,  how  old  are  you  ?  " 

"  Sixteen  last  Christmas,  mother." 

"And  seventeen  next  Christmas." 

"Yes,  ma'am,  but  next  Christmas  is  not  come 

yet." 

"  Seems  to  me,  it  is  near  enough  for  you  to  be 
something  besides  a  child." 

"  What's  the  harm,  mother  ?  " 

"  Harm  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Copley  with  a  sharp  accent ; 
— "  why,  when  one  has  a  woman's  work  to  do,  one 
had  better  be  a  woman  to  do  it.  .  How  is  a  child 
to  fill  a  woman's  place  ?  " 

"  I  have  only  a  child's  place  to  fill,  just  now," 
said  Dolly  merrily.  "  I  have  no  woman's  work  to 
do,  mother. 

"Yes,  you  have.  You  have  got  to  go  into  so- 
ciety, and  play  your  part  in  society,  and  be  mar- 
ried by  and  by ;  and  then  you'll  know  that  a  wom- 
an's part  isn't  so  easy  to  play." 

Dolly  looked  grave. 

"  But  we  are  going  to  England,  mother ;  where 
we  know  nobody.  I  don't  see  how  we  are  to  go 
into  much  society." 


94  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  Do  you  suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Copley  very  irately, 
"that  with  your  father's  position  his  wife  and 
daughter  will  not  be  visited  and  receive  invita- 
tions? That  is  the  one  thing  that  reconciles  me 
to  going.  We  shall  have  a  very  different  sort  of 
society  from  what  we  have  here.  Why  you  will 
go  to  court,  Dolly ;  you  will  be7  presented ;  and  of 
course  you  will  see  nothing  but  people  of  the  very 
best  circles." 

"  I  don't  care  about  going  to  court." 

"  Why  not  ?  You  are  a  goose ;  you  know  noth- 
ing about  it.  Why  don't  you  want  to  go  to  court? 
Your  father's  daughter  may,  as  well  as  some  other 
people's.  Why  don't  you  care  about  it  ?  " 

"It  would  be  a  great  deal  of  fuss;  and  no  use." 

"  No  use !  Yes,  it  would ;  just  the  use  I  am  tell- 
ing you.  It  would  introduce  you  to  the  best 
society." 

"  But  I  am  not  going  to  live  in  England  all  my 
life,  mother." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  "  very  sharply.  "  How  do 
you  know  where  you  are  going  to  live  ?  " 

"  Why,  father  won't  stay  there  always,  will  he  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  what  your  father  will 
take  into  his  head.  I  may  be  called  to  end  my 
days  in  Japan.  But  you —  Look  here ;  has  your 
aunt  made  you  as  old  fashioned  as  she  is  herself?  " 

"How,  mother?" 

"  I  am  sure  I  can't  tell  how !  There  are  ever  so 
many  ways.  There's  the  benevolent  sort,  and 
there's  the  devout  sort,  and  there's  the  puritan- 


PLAYTHINGS.  .       95 

ical  sort.  Has  she  put  it  into  your  head  that  it 
is  good  to  be  a  hermit  and  separate  yourself  from 
the  rest  of  the  world  ?  " 

Dolly  laughed  and  denied  that  charge. 

"She's  a  very  good  woman,  I  suppose;  but  she 
is  ridiculous,"  Mrs.  Copley  went  on.  "Don't  be 
ridiculous,  whatever  you  are.  You  can't  do  any 
good  to  anybody  by  being  ridiculous." 

"  But  people  may  call  things  ridiculous,  that  are 
not  ridiculous,  mother." 

"  Don't  let  them  call  you  ridiculous,  then,"  said 
Mrs.  Copley,  chopping  her  words  in  the  way  peo- 
ple do  when  impatience  has  the  management  of 
them.  "  You  had  better  not.  The  world  is  pretty 
apt  to  be  right." 

Dolly  let  the  subject  go,  and  let  it  go  from  her 
mind  too;  giving  herself  to  the  delights  of  her 
chickens,  and  the  calf,  and  the  nests  of  eggs  in 
the  hay  mow.  More  than  half  the  time  she  was 
dancing  about  out  of  doors;  as  gay  as  the  daffo- 
dils that  were  just  opening,  as  delicate  as  the  Van 
Thol  tulips  that  were  taking  on  slender  streaks 
and  threads  of  carmine  in  their  half  transparent 
white  petals,  as  sweet  as  the  white  hyacinth  that 
was  blooming  in  Mrs.  Copley's  window.  Within 
the  house  Dolly  displayed  another  character,  and 
soon  became  indispensable  to  her  mother.  In  all 
consultations  of  business,  in  emergencies  of  pack- 
ing, in  perplexities  of  arrangements,  Dolly  was 
ready  with  a  sweet,  clear  common  sense,  loving 
hands  of  skill,  and  an  imperturbable  cheerfulness 


96  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

and  patience.  It  was  only  a  few  weeks  that  the 
confusion  lasted;  during  those  weeks  Mrs.  Copley 
came  to  know  what  sort  of  a  daughter  she  had. 
And  even  Mr.  Copley  began  to  divine  it. 

Mr.  Copley  has  been  no  more  than  mentioned. 
He  was  a  comely,  intelligent,  active,  energetic 
man;  a  very  good  specimen  of  a  typical  Yankee 
who  has  enjoyed  the  advantages  of  education  and 
society.  He  had  plenty  of  common  sense,  acute 
business  faculties,  and  genial  manners;  and  so 
was  generally  a  popular  man  among  his  compeers. 
His  inherited  family  property  made  him  more  than 
independent;  so  his  business  dealings  were  en- 
tered into  rather  for  amusement  and  to  satisfy  the 
inborn  Yankee  craving  to  be  doing  something, 
than  for  need  or  for  gain.  Mr.  Copley  laid  no 
special  value  on  money,  beyond  what  went  to 
make  him  comfortable.  But  he  lacked  any  feel- 
ing for  art,  which  might  have  made  him  a  col- 
lector and  connoisseur;  he  had  no  love  for  nature, 
which  might  have  expended  itself  in  grounds  and 
gardens;  he  cared  little  for  knowledge,  except 
such  as  he  could  forthwith  use.  What  was  left 
to  him  but  business?  for  he  was  not  of  those 
softly  natures  which  sit  down  at  home  in  the 
midst  of  their  families  and  are  content.  How- 
ever, Mr.  Copley  could  value  his  home  belong-; 
ings,  and  had  an  eye  to  discern  things. 

He  was  watching  Dolly,  one  day  just  before 
their  departure,  as  she  was  busying  herself  with 
a  bunch  of  violets;  putting  some  of  them  in  a 


PLAYTHINGS.  97 

glass,  sticking  some  of  them  in  her  mother's  hair, 
finally  holding  the  bunch  under  her  father's  nose. 

"Dolly,"  said  her  father,  "I  declare  I  don't  know 
whether  you  are  most  of  a  child  or  a  woman ! " 

"I  suppose  I  can  be  both,  father;  can't  I?" 

"I  don't  know  about  that." 

"  So  I  tell  her,"  said  Mrs.  Copley.  "  It's  all  very 
well  as  long  as  she  is  here ;  but  I  tell  her  she  has 
got  to  give  up  being  a  child  and  playing  with  the 
chickens." 

"  Why  must  I  ?  "  said  Dolly. 

"You  will  find  other  playthings  on  the  other 
side,"  said  her  father,  fondly  putting  his  arm  round 
her  and  drawing  her  up  to  him. 

"Will  they  be  as  good  as  chickens?  What  will 
they  be  ?  " 

"Yes,  there,  'what  will  they  be/  she  asks! 
I  do  believe  that  Dolly  has  no  idea,"  Mrs.  Copley 
remarked. 

"  She  will  find  out  soon  enough,"  said  Mr.  Cop- 
ley contentedly. 

"What  will  they  be,  father?"  Dolly  repeated, 
making  for  the  present  a  plaything  of  her  father's 
head;  for  both  her  soft  arms  were  around  it,  and 
she  was  touching  first  one  side  and  then  the  other 
side  with  her  own  cheeks.  Mr.  Copley  seemed  to 
enjoy  the  play,  for  he  gave  himself  up  to  it  lux- 
uriously and  made  no  answer. 

"Dolly  has  been  long  enough  in  Philadelphia," 
Mrs.  Copley  went  on.  "  It  is  time  she  was  away." 

"  So  I  think." 
7 


98  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"Father,"  said  Dolly  now,  "have  I  done  with 
going  to  school  ?  " 

There  ensued  a  debate  upon  this  question ;  Dol- 
ly herself  taking  the  negative  and  her  mother  the 
affirmative  side.  She  wanted  her  daughter  at 
home,  she  said. 

"  But  not  till  I  am  fit  to  be  at  home,  mother?  " 

"  Fit  ?  Why  are  you  not  fit  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Copley. 
"  You  know  as  much  as  I  did  when  I  was  married ; 
and  I  should  think  that  would  be  enough.  I  do 
not  see  what  girls  want  with  so  much  crammed 
into  their  heads,  now-a-days !  It  does  them  no 
good,  and  it  does  nobody  else  any  good." 

"  What  do  you  think  you  want,  Dolly,  more  than 
you  have  already?  "  her  father  asked. 

"  Why  father,  I  do  not  know  anything.  I  have 
only  begun  things." 

"  Humph !  Not  know  anything.  I  suppose  you 
can  read  and  write  and  cipher  ?  " 

"  And  you  can  play  and  sing,"  added  Mrs.  Cop- 
ley. 

"  Very  little,  mother." 

"And  your  drawings  are  beautiful." 

"  0  no,  mother !  That  is  one  especial  thing  that 
I  want  to  do  better;  a  great  deal  better." 

"  I  think  they  are  good  enough.  And  you  have 
music  enough.  What's  the  use?  When  you  are 
married  you  will  give  it  all  up." 

"  My  music  and  my  drawing,  mother  ?  " 

"Yes.     Every  girl  does." 

"  But  I  am  not  going  to  be  married." 


PLAYTHINGS.  99 

"  Not  just  yet," — said  Mr.  Copley  drawing  the 
soft  arms  round  his  neck, — "not  just  yet,  Dolly. 
But  when  a  girl  is  known  to  have  so  much  money 
as  you  will  have,  there  are  sure  to  be  plenty  of 
fellows  after  her.  Somebody  will  catch  you  up, 
some  of  these  days." 

"  Somebody  who  wants  my  money,  father  ?  " 

"Everybody  wants  money" — Mr.  Copley  an- 
swered evasively. 

"  They  would  not  come  and  tell  you  so,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Not  exactly.     That  isn't  the  game." 

"  Then  they  would  pretend  to  like  me,  while 
they  only  wanted  my  money  ?  " 

"Mr.  Copley,  do  you  think  what  notions  you 
are  putting  in  Dolly's  head  ?  Don't  you  know  yet, 
that  whatever  you  put  in  Dolly's  head,  stays 
there  ?  "  Mrs.  Copley  objected. 

"  I  like  that,"  said  Dolly's  father.  "  Most  girls' 
heads  are  like  paper  fly  traps — won't  hold  any- 
thing but  a  fly.  Dolly,  in  the  pocket  of  my  over- 
coat that  hangs  up  in  the  hall,  there  is  something 
that  concerns  you." 

"  Which  pocket,  father  ?  " 

"Ay,  youVe  got  your  head  on  your  shoulders! 
That's  right.  In  the  inner  breast  pocket,  my  dear. 
You'll  find  a  small  packet,  tied  up  in  paper." 

Being  brought  and  duly  opened,  Mr.  Copley's 
fingers  took  out  of  a  small  paper  box  a  yet  smaller 
package  in  silk  paper  and  handed  it  to  Dolly.  It 
was  a  pretty  little  gold  watch. 

"Why  didn't  you  wait  till  you  go  to  Geneva, 


100  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

Mr.  Copley  ?  "  said  his  wife.  "  You  could  have  got 
it  cheaper  and  better  there." 

"  How  do  you  know,  my  dear,  without  knowing 
how  much  I  paid  for  this,  or  how  good  it  is  ?  i 
am  not  going  to  Geneva,  either.  Well,  Dolly  ?  " 

Dolly  gave  her  father  a  mute  kiss,  which  was 
expressive. 

"  You  think  it  will  do,  then.  What  will  you 
wear  it  on  ?  I  should  have  thought  of  that.  You 
must  have  a  chain.'' 

"01  have  got  a  chain!"  Dolly  cried;  and  off 
she  ran  to  fetch  it.  She  came  back  presently  with 
the  little  box  which  had  been  sent  her  from  the 
"  Achilles,"  and  sat  down  by  the  lamp  to  put  the 
watch  on  •  the  chain.  Her  father's  eye  rested  on 
her  as  she  sat  there,  and  well  it  might.  The  lamp- 
light fell  among  the  light  loose  curls  of  brown 
hair,  glanced  from  the  white  brow,  shewed  the 
delicate  flush  with  which  delight  had  coloured  her 
cheeks,  and  then  lit  up  the  little  hands  which  were 
busy  with  gold  and  wreathen  work  of  the  cable 
chain.  The  eyes  he  could  not  see;  the  mouth,  he 
thought,  with  its  innocent  half  smile,  was  as  sweet 
as  a  mouth  could  be.  Mrs.  Copley  was  looking 
that  way  too,  but  seeing  somewhat  else.  Eyes  do 
see  in  the  same  picture  such  different  things. 

"  What  have  you  got  there,  Dolly  ?  " 

"A  chain,  mother.  I  am  so  glad!  I  never  could 
wear  it,  before.  Now  I  am  so  glad." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  A  chain,  mother,"  said  Dolly  holding  it  up. 


PLAYTHINGS.  101 

"  What  sort  of  a  chain  ?     Made  of  what  ?  " 

Dolly  told  her  story.  Mrs.  Copley  examined 
and  wondered  at  the  elegance  of  the  work.  Mr. 
Copley  promised  Dolly  a  chain  of  gold. 

"I  do  not  want  it,  father.  I  like  this,"  said 
Dolly,  putting  the  chain  round  her  neck. 

"  Not  better  than  a  gold  one  ?  " 

"Yes,  father,  I  do." 

"Why,  child?" 

"  It  reminds  me  of  the  time,  and  of  the  person 
that  made  it ;  and  I  like  it  for  all  that." 

"  Who  was  the  person  ?  what  was  his  name  ?  " 

"A  midshipman  on  the  'Achilles.'  His  name 
was  Crowninshield." 

"  A  good  name,"  said  Mr.  Copley. 

"  Why  that  was  five  and  a  half  years  ago,  child. 
Did  he  make  such  an  impression  on  you  ?  Where 
is  he  now  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  You  have  never  seen  him  since  ?  " 

"  Nor  heard  of  him.  I  could  not  even  find  his 
name  in  any  of  the  lists  of  officers  of  ships,  that  I 
saw  sometimes  in  the  paper." 

"  I'll  look  for  it,"  said  Mr.  Copley. 

But  though  he  was  as  good  as  his  word,  he  was 
no  more  successful  than  Dolly  had  been. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

LONDON. 

MRS.  COPLEY  did  not  like  London.  So  she  de. 
clared  after  a  stay  of  some  months  had  given 
her,  as  she  supposed,  an  opportunity  of  judging. 
The  house  they  inhabited  was  not  in  a  sufficiently 
fashionable  quarter,  she  complained;  and  society 
did  not  seem  to  open  its  doors  readily  to  the  new 
American  consul. 

"  I  suppose,  mother,  we  have  not  been  here  long 
enough.  People  do  not  know  us." 

"  What  do  you  call  '  long  enough '  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Copley  with  sharp  emphasis.  "And  how  are  peo- 
ple to  know  us,  if  they  do  not  come  to  see  us? 
When  people  are  strangers,  is  the  very  time  to  go 
and  make  their  acquaintance;  /should  say." 

"English  nature  likes  to  know  people  before  it 
makes  their  acquaintance,"  Mr.  Copley  remarked. 
"  I  do  not  think  you  have  any  cause  to  find  fault." 

"  No ;  you  have  all  you  want  in  the  way  of  so- 
ciety, and  you  have  no  notion  how  it  is  with  me. 
That  is  men's  way.  And  what  do  you  expect  to 
do  with  Dolly,  shut  up  in  this  smoky  old  street? 
You  might  think  of  Dolly." 

"Dolly,  dear,"  said  her  father,  "are  you  getting 


LONDON.  103 

smoked  out,  like  your  mother  ?  Do  you  want  to 
go  with  me  and  see  the  Bank  of  England  to-day  ?  " 

Dolly  made  a  joyful  spring  to  kiss  her  thanks, 
and  then  flew  off  to  get  ready ;  but  stopped  at  the 
door. 

"  Won't  you  go  too,  mother  ?  " 

"And  tire  myself  to  death?  No,  thank  you, 
Dolly.  I  am  not  so  young  as  I  was  once." 

"  You  are  a  very  young  woman  for  your  years, 
my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Copley  gallantly. 

"But  I  should  like  to  know,  Frank,"  said  Mrs. 
Copley,  thawing  a  little,  "  what  you  do  mean  to  do 
with  Dolly?" 

"  Take  her  to  see  the  Bank  of  England.  It's  a 
wonderful  institution." 

"  You  know  what  I  mean,  Frank.  Don't  run 
away  from  my  question.  You  have  society  enough, 
I  suppose,  of  the  kind  that  suits  you;  but  Dolly 
and  I  ai'e  alone,  or  as  near  as  possible.  What  is  to 
become  of  Dolly,  shut  up  here  in  smoke  and  fog  ? 
You  should  think  of  Dolly.  I  can  stand  it  for 
myself." 

"There'll  be  no  want  of  people  to  think  of  Dolly." 

"If  they  could  see  her;  but  they  don't  see  her. 
How  are  they  to  see  her  ?  " 

"  I'll  get  you  a  place  down  in  the  country,  if  you 
like;  out  of  the  smoke." 

"  I  should  like  it  very  much.  But  that  will  not 
help  Dolly." 

"Yes,  it  will;  help  her  to  keep  fresh.  I'll  get  her 
a  pony." 


104  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"Mr.  Copley,  you  will  not  answer  me!  I  am 
talking  of  Dolly's  prospects.  You  do  not  seem  to 
consider  them." 

"How  old  is  Dolly?" 

"  Seventeen." 

"Too  young  for  prospects,  my  dear." 

"Not  too  young  for  us  to  think  about  it  and  take 
care  that  she  does  not  miss  them.  Mr.  Copley,  do 
you  know  Dolly  is  very  handsome  ?  " 

"She  is  better  than  that ! "  said  Mr.  Copley  proud- 
ly. "  I  understand  faces,  if  I  don't  prospects.  There 
is  not  the  like  of  Dolly  to  be  seen  in  Hyde  Park  any 
day." 

"Why  don't  you  take  her  to  ride  in  the  Park 
then,  and  let  her  be  seen?" 

"  Do  you  want  her  to  marry  an  Englishman  ? " 

Mrs.  Copley  was  silent,  and  before  she  spoke 
again  Dolly  came  in,  ready  for  her  expedition. 

London  was  not  quite  to  Dolly  the  disappointing 
thing  her  mother  declared  it.  She  was  at  an  age 
to  find  pleasure  in  everything  from  which  a  fine 
sense  could  bring  it  out;  and  not  being  burdened 
with  thoughts  about  "  prospects,"  and  finding  her 
own  and  her  mother's  society  always  sufficient  for 
herself,  Dolly  went  gayly  on  from  day  to  day,  like 
a  bee  from  flower  to  flower;  sucking  sweetness  in 
each  one.  She  had  a  large  and  insatiable  appetite 
for  the  sight  and  knowledge  of  everything  that  was 
worth  seeing  or  knowing;  it  followed,  that  London 
was  to  her  a  rich  treasure  field.  She  delighted  in 
viewing  it  under  its  historical  aspect;  she  would 


LONDON.  105 

study  out  the  associations  and  the  chronicled  events 
connected  Avith  a  particular  point ;  and  then,  with 
her  mind  and  heart  full  of  the  subject,  go  some  day 
to  visit  the  place  with  her  father.  What  pleasure 
she  took  in  this  way  it  is  impossible  to  tell.  Mr. 
Copley  was  excessively  fond  and  proud  of  his 
daughter,  even  though  her  mother  thought  him 
so  careless  about  her  interests;  his  life  was  a  busy 
one,  but  from  time  to  time  he  would  spare  half  a  day 
to  give  to  Dolly,  and  then  they  went  sight-seeing 
together.  Old  houses,  old  gateways  and  courts,  old 
corners  and  streets,  where  something  had  happened 
or  somebody  had  lived  that  henceforth  could  never 
be  forgotten,  how  Dolly  studied  them  and  hung 
about  them !  Mr.  Copley  himself  cared  for  no  his- 
torical associations,  neither  could  he  apprehend  pict- 
uresque effects ;  what  he  did  care  for  was  Dolly ;  and 
for  her  sake  he  would  linger  hours,  if  need  were, 
around  some  bit  of  old  London;  and  find  amuse- 
ment enough  the  while  in  watching  Dolly.  Dolly 
studied  like  an  antiquary,  and  dreamed  like  a  ro- 
mantic girl ;  and  at  the  same  time  enjoyed  fine  ef- 
fects with  the  true  natural  feeling  of  an  artist; 
though  Dolly  was  no  artist.  The  sense  had  not 
been  cultivated,  but  the  feeling  was  born  in  her. 
So  the  British  Museum  was  to  her  something  quite 
beyond  fairyland ;  a  region  of  wonders,  where  past 
ages  went  by  in  procession;  or  better,  stood  still 
for  her  eyes  to  gaze  upon  them.  The  Tower  was 
another  place  of  indescribable  fascination.  How 
many  visits  they  made  to  it  I  dare  not  say ;  Dolly 


106  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

never  had  enough ;  and  her  delight  was  so  much  of 
a  feast  to  her  father  that  he  did  not  grudge  the  time 
nor  mind  what  he  would  have  called  the  dawdling. 
Indeed  it  was  a  sort  of  refuge  to  Mr.  Copley,  when 
business  perplexities  or  iterations  had  fairly  wearied 
him,  which  sometimes  happened ;  then  he  would  flee 
away  from  the  dust  and  confusion  of  present  life 
in  the  city  and  lose  himself  with  Dolly  in  the  cool 
shades  of  the  past.  That  might  seem  dusty  to  him 
too;  but  there  was  always  a  fresh  spring  of  life  in 
his  little  daughter  which  made  a  green  place  for 
him  wherever  she  happened  to  be.  So  Mr.  Copley 
was  as  contented  with  the  condition  of  things  at 
this  time  as  it  was  in  his  nature  to  feel.  He  had 
enough  society,  as  his  wife  had  stated;  he  had  all 
he  wanted  in  that  line ;  he  was  just  as  well  con- 
tented to  keep  Dolly  for  the  present  at  home  and 
to  himself.  He  did  not  want  her  to  be  snapped  up 
by  somebody,  he  said;  and  if  you  don't  mean  to 
have  a  fire,  you  had  best  not  leave  matches  lying 
about;  a  sentiment  which  Mrs.  Copley  received 
with  great  scorn. 

It  would  have,  so  far,  suited  the  views  of  both 
parents,  to  send  Dolly  to  some  first  rate  boarding 
school  for  a  year  or  two.  Only,  they  could  not  do 
without  her.  She  was  the  staple  of  Mrs.  Copley's 
life,  and  the  spice  of  life  to  her  husband.  Dolly 
was  kept  at  home  therefore,  and  furnished  with 
masters  in  music  and  drawing,  and  at  her  press- 
ing request,  in  languages  also.  And  just  because 
she  made  diligent,  conscientious  use  of  these  advan- 


LONDON.  107 

tages  and  worked  hard  most  of  the  time,  Dolly  the 
more  richly  enjoyed  an  occasional  half  day  of  wan- 
dering about  with  her  father.  She  came  home  from 
her  visit  to  the  Bank  of  England  in  high  glee  and 
with  a  brave  appetite  for  her  late  luncheon. 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Copley  watching  her, — "  now 
you  have  tired  yourself  out  again ;  and  for  what  ?  " 

"  0  mother,  it  was  a  very  great  sight ! "  said  Dolly. 
"  I  wish  you  had  been  along.  I  think  it  has  given 
me  the  best  notion  of  the  greatness  of  England  that 
I  have  got  from  anything  yet." 

" Money  isn't  everything"  said  Mrs.  Copley  scorn- 
fully. "  I  dare  say  we  have  just  as  good  banks  in 
America." 

"  Father  says,  there  is  nothing  equal  to  it  in  the 
world." 

"  That  is  because  your  father  is  so  taken  with 
everything  English.  He'd  be  sure  to  say  that. 
I  don't  know  why  a  bank  in  America  shouldn't 
be  as  good  as  a  bank  here,  or  anywhere." 

"It  isn't  that,  mother.  A  bank  might  be  good,  in 
one  sense ;  but  it  could  not  be  such  a  magnificent 
establishment  as  this,  anywhere  but  in  England." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"0  the  abundance  of  wealth  here,  mother;  and 
the  scale  of  everything;  and  the  superb  order 
and  system.  English  system  is  something  beauti- 
ful." And  Dolly  went  on  to  explain  to  her  mother 
the  arrangements  of  the  bank,  and  in  especial 
the  order  taken  for  the  preservation  and  gradual 
destruction  of  the  redeemed  notes. 


108  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  what  is  the  use  of  such 
things  as  banks  at  all  ? "  was  Mrs.  Copley's  un- 
satisfied comment. 

"Why  mother?  don't  you  know?  they  make 
business  so  much  easier,  and  safer." 

"  I  wish  there  was  no  such  thing  as  banks, 
then." 

"0  mother!     Why  do  you  say  that?" 

"Then  your  father  would  maybe  let  business 
alone." 

"  But  he  is  fond  of  business  ?  " 

"I  don't  think  business  is  fond  of  him.  He  gets 
drawn  in  to  a  speculation  here  and  a  speculation 
there,  by  some  of  these  people  he  is  always  with; 
and  some  day  he  will  do  it  once  too  often.  He 
has  enough  for  us  all  now ;  if  he  would  only  keep 
to  his  consul's  business,  and  let  banks  alone." 

Mrs.  Copley  looked  worried,  and  Dolly  for  a 
moment  looked  grave;  but  it  was  her  mother's 
way  to  talk  so. 

"Why  did  he  take  the  consulship?" 

"Ask  him!  Because  he  would  rather  be  a  no- 
body in  England  than  a  somebody  in  America." 

"Mother,"  said  Dolly  after  a  pause,  "we  have 
an  invitation  to  dinner." 

"Who?" 

"  Father  and  I." 

"Not  me!"  cried  Mrs.  Copley.  "You  and  your 
father,  and  not  your  father's  wife ! " 

"  I  suppose  the  people  do  not  know  you,  mother, 
nor  know  about  you ;  that  must  be  the  reason." 


LONDON.  109 

"  How  do  they  know  about  you,  pray  ?  " 

"  They  have  seen  me.  At  least  one  of  them  has ; 
BO  father  says." 

"One  of  whom?" 

"One  of  the  family." 

"What  family  is  it?" 

"A  rich  banker's  family,  father  says.  Mr.  St. 
Leger." 

"  St.  Leger.     That  is  a  good  name  here." 

"They  are  very  rich,  father  says,  and  have  a 
beautiful  place." 

"Where?" 

"Some  miles  out  of  London;  a  good  many,  I 
think." 

"  Where  is  your  invitation  ?  " 

"  Where  ? — 0  it  is  not  written*  Mr.  St.  Leger 
asked  father  to  come  and  bring  me." 

"And  Mrs.  St.  Leger  has  sent  you  no  invitation, 
then.  Not  even  a  card,  Dolly  ?  " 

"  Why  no,  mother.     Was  that  necessary  ?  " 

"It  would  have  been  civil,"  said  Mrs.  Copley. 
"  It  is  what  she  would  have  done  to  an  English- 
woman. I  suppose  they  think  we  don't  know  any 
better." 

Dolly  was  silent,  and  Mrs.  Copley  presently  went 
on. — "How  can  you  go  to  dinner  several  miles 
away?  You  would  have  to  come  back  in  the 
night." 

"0  no;  we  could  not  do  that.  Mr.  St.  Leger 
asked  us  to  stay  over  till  next  day." 

"It  is  just  like  everythiiig  else  in  this  miserable 


110  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

country !  "  Mrs.  Copley  exclaimed.  "  I  wish  I  was 
at  home ! " 

",0  why,  mother?  We  shall  go  home  by  and 
by;  why  cannot  you  enjoy  things,  while  we  are 
here?" 

"  Enjoy  what  ?  Staying  here  in  the  house  and 
seeing  you  and  your  father  go  off  to  dinners  with- 
out me  ?  At  home  I  am  Mrs.  Copley,  and  it 
means  something;  here,  it  seems,  I  am  Mr.  Cop- 
ley's housekeeper." 

"  But  mother,  nobody  meant  any  affront.  And 
you  will  not  see  us  go  off  and  leave  you;  for  I 
shall  stay  at  home."  ,. 

"  Indeed  you  will  do  no  such  thing !  I  am  not 
going  to  have,  you  asked  anywhere,  really  asked 
to  a  dinner,  and  not  go.  You  shall  go,  Dolly. 
But  I  really  think  Mr.  Copley  might  have  managed 
to  let  the  people  know  you  had  a  mother  some- 
where. That's  what  he  would  have  done,  if  it 
wasn't  for  business.  It  is  business  that  swallows 
him  up;  and  I  don't  know  for  my  part  what  life 
is  good  for  so.  Once  I  had  a  husband.  Now,  I 
declare  I  haven't  got  anything  but  you,  Dolly." 

"Mother,  you  have  me,"  said  the  girl,  kissing 
her.  And  the  caress  was  so  sweet  that  it  re- 
minded Mrs.  Copley  how  much  that  one  word 
"Dolly"  signified;  and  she  was  quiet.  And  when 
Mr.  Copley  came  home,  and  the  subject  was  dis- 
cussed anew,  she  limited  herself  to  inquiries  about 
the  family  and  questions  concerning  Dolly's  dress, 
refraining  from  all  complaints  on  her  own  score. 


LONDON.  Ill 

"St.  Leger?"  said  Mr.  Copley.  "Who  is  he? 
He's  a  goodish  old  fellow;  sharp  as  a  hawk  in 
business;  but  he's  solid;  solid  as  the  Bank.  That's 
all  there  is  about  him;  he  is  of  no  great  count,  ex- 
cept for  his  money.  He'll  never  set  the  Thames  on 
fire.  What  did  he  ask  us  for?— Humph!  Well- 
he  and  I  have  had  a  good  deal  to  do  with  each 
other.  And  then — •"  Mr.  Copley  paused  and  his 
eyes  involuntarily  went  over  the  table  to  his 
daughter.  "Do  you  remember,  Dolly,  being  in 
my  office  one  day,  a  month  ago  or  more,  when 
Mr.  St.  Leger  came  in  ?  he  and  his  son  ?  " 

Dolly  remembered  nothing  about  it ;  remembered 
indeed  being  there,  but  not  who  came  in. 

"  Well,  they  remember  it,"  said  Mr.  Copley. 

"  Is  it  a  good  place  for  Dolly  to  go  ?  " 

"  Dolly  ?  O  yes.  Why  not  ?  They  have  a  fine 
place  out  of  town.  Dolly  will  tell  you  about  it, 
when  she  has  been  there." 

"And  what  must  Dolly  wear?"  pursued  Mrs. 
Copley. 

"Wear?  0  just  what  everybody  wears.  The 
regular  thing,  I  suppose.  Dolly  may  wear  what 
she  has  a  mind  to." 

"That  is  just  what  you  know  she  cannot,  Mr. 
Copley.  At  home  she  might;  but  these  people 
here  are  so  very  particular." 

"About  dress?  Not  at  all,  my  dear.  English 
people  let  you  go  your  own  way  in  that  as  much 
as  any  people  on  the  face  of  the  earth.  They  do 
not  care  how  you  dress." 


112  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"They  don't  care,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Copley;  "they 
don't  care  if  you  went  on  your  head;  but  all  the 
same  they  judge  you  according  to  how  you  look 
and  what  you  do.  And  us  especially  because  we 
are  foreigners.  I  don't  want  them  to  turn  up  their 
noses  at  Dolly  because  she  is  an  American." 

"I'd  as  lieve  they  did  it  for  that  as  for  any- 
thing," said  Dolly  laughing;  "but  I  hope  the 
people  we  are  going  to  will  know  better." 

"They  will  know  better,  there  is  no  fear,"  an- 
swered her  father. 

The  subject  troubled  Mrs.  Copley's  head  how- 
ever from  that  time  till  the  day  of  the  dinner; 
and  even  after  Dolly  and  her  father  had  driven 
off  and  were  gone,  she  still  debated  with  herself 
uneasily  whether  a  darker  dress  would  have  done 
better,  and  whether  Dolly  ought  to  have  had 
flowers  in  her  hair,  to  make  her  very  best  impres- 
sion upon  her  entertainers.  For  Dolly  had  elected 
to  wear  white,  and  would  deck  herself  with  no 
ornament  at  all,  neither  ribband  nor  flower.  Mrs. 
Copley  half  grumbled,  yet  could  not  but  allow  to 
herself  that  there  was  nothing  to  wish  for  in  the 
finished  effect;  and  Dolly  was  allowed  to  depart; 
but  as  I  said,  after  she  was  gone  Mrs.  Copley  went 
on  troubling  herself  with  doubts  on  the  question. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE     PEACOCKS. 

NO  doubts  troubled  Dolly's  mind  during  that 
drive,  about  dress  or  anything  else.  Her 
dress  she  had  forgotten  indeed;  and  the  pain  of 
leaving  her  mother  at  home  was  forced  to  give 
way  before  the  multitude  of  new  and  pleasant 
impressions.  That  drive  was  pure  enjoyment. 
The  excitement  and  novelty  of  the  occasion  gave 
no  doubt  a  spur  to  Dolly's  spirits  and  quickened 
her  perceptions ;  they  were  all  alive,  as  the  car- 
riage rolled  along  over  the  smooth  roads.  What 
could  be  better,  than  to  drive  so,  on  such  an 
evening,  through  such  a  country  ?  For  the 
weather  was  perfect,  the  landscape  exceedingly 
rich  and  fair,  the  vegetation  in  its  glory.  And 
the  roads  themselves  were  full  of  the  most  varied 
life,  and  offered  to  the  little  American  girl  a  flash- 
ing, changing,  very  amusing  and  abundantly  sug- 
gestive scene.  Dolly's  eyes  were  incessantly  busy, 
yet  her  lips  did  not  move  unless  to  smile;  and  her 
father  for  a  long  time  would  not  interrupt  her 
meditations.  Good  that  she  should  forget  herself, 
he  thought;  if  she  were  recalled  to  the  practical 


114  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

present  maybe  she  would  grow  nervous.  That 
was  the  only  thing  Mr.  Copley  was  afraid  of. 
However,  for  him  to  keep  absolute  silence  be- 
yond a  limited  time  was  out  of  his  nature. 

"  Are  you  happy,  Dolly  ?  "  he  asked  her. 

"Very  happy,  father!  If  only  mother  was  with 
us." 

"  Ah,  yes,  it  would  have  been  rather  pleasanter 
for  you;  but  you  must  not  mind  that." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  do  not  mind  it  enough,  I  am  so 
amused  with  everything.  I  cannot  help  it." 

"That's  right.     Now,  Dolly—" 

"  Yes,  father—" 

"I  should  like  to  know  what  you  have  been 
thinking  of  all  this  while.  I  have  been  watching 
the  smiles  coming  and  going." 

"I  do  not  know  that  I  was  thinking  at  all  — 
until  just  now;  just  before  you  spoke." 

"  And  of  what  then  ?  " 

"  It  came  to  me,  I  do  not  know  why,  a  question. 
We  have  passed  so  many  people  who  seemed  as  if 
they  were  enjoying  themselves, — like  me ; — and  so 
many  pretty-looking  places,  where  people  might 
live  happy,  one  would  think;  and  the  question 
somehow  came  to  me,  father,  what  I  am  going 
to  do  with  my  own  life  ?  " 

"Do  with  it?"  said  Mr.  Copley  astonished ;  "why 
enjoy  it,  Dolly.  Every  day  as  much  as  to-day." 

"But  perhaps  one  cannot  enjoy  life  always — " 
said  Dolly  thoughtfully. 

"All  you  can,  then,  dear;  all  you  can.     There  is 


THE  PEACOCKS.  115 

nothing  to  prevent  your  always  enjoying  it.  You 
will  have  money  enough;  and  that  is  the  main 
thing.  There  is  nothing  to  hinder  your  enjoying 
yourself." 

"But  father,  don't  you  think  one  ought  to  do 
more  with  one's  life  than  that  ?  " 

"Yes;  you'll  marry,  one  of  these  days,  and  so 
make  somebody  else  enjoy  himself." 

"What  would  become  of  you  and  mother  then?" 
asked  Dolly  shyly. 

"  We'd  get  along,"  said  Mr.  Copley.  "  What  we 
care  about,  is  to  see  you  enjoy  life,  Dolly.  Are  you 
enjoying  it  now,  puss  ?  " 

"  Very  much,  father." 

"  Then  so  am  I." 

The  carriage  left  the  high  road  here,  and  Dol- 
ly's attention  was  again,  seemingly,  all  bestowed 
on  what  she  saw  from  its  windows.  Her  father 
watched  her,  and  could  not  observe  that  she  was 
either  timid  or  excited  in  the  prospect  of  the  new 
scenes  upon  which  she  was  about  to  enter.  Her 
big  brown  eyes  were  wide  open,  busy  and  inter- 
ested, at  the  same  time  wholly  self-forgetful.  Self- 
forgetful  they  remained  when  arriving  at  the  house, 
and  when  she  was  introduced  to  the  family;  and 
her  manner  consequently  left  nothing  to  be  desired. 
Yet  house  and  grounds  and  establishment  were  on 
a  scale  to  which  Dolly  hitherto  had  been  entirely 
unaccustomed. 

There  was  a  small  dinner  party  gathered,  and 
Dolly  was  taken  in  to  table  by  young  Mr.  St. 


116  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

Leger,  the  son  of  their  host.  Dolly  had  seen  this 
gentleman  before,  and  so  in  this  concourse  of 
strangers  she  felt  more  at  home  with  him  than 
with  anybody.  Young  Mr.  St.  Leger  was  a  very 
handsome  fellow;  with  regular  features  and  soft, 
rather  lazy,  blue  eyes,  which  however  were  not 
insipid.  Dolly  rather  liked  him;  the  expression 
of  his  features  was  gentle  and  good,  so  were  his 
manners.  He  seemed  well  pleased  with  his  choice 
of  a  companion,  and  did  his  best  to  make  Dolly 


"You  are  new  in  this  part  of  the  world?"  he 
remarked  to  her. 

"  I  am  new  in  any  part  of  the  world,"  said  Dolly, 
dimpling,  as  she  did  when  something  struck  her 
funnily.  "  I  am  not  very  old  yet." 

"No,  I  see,"  said  her  companion,  laughing  a 
little,  though  in  some  doubt  whether  he  or  she 
had  made  the  fun.  "How  do  you  like  us?  Or 
haven't  you  been  long  enough  here  to  judge  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  in  England  a  good  many  months." 

"  Then  is  it  a  fair  question  ?  " 

"  0  all  questions  are  fair,"  said  Dolly.  "  I  like 
some  things  here  very  much." 

"  I  should  be  delighted  to  know  what." 

"I'll  tell  you,"  said  Dolly's  father,  who  sat  op- 
posite and  had  caught  the  question.  "  She  likes 
an  old  suit  of  armour,  or  a  collection  of  old  stones 
in  the  form  of  an  arch  or  a  gateway;  and  in  the 
presence  of  the  crown  jewels  she  was  almost  as 
bad  as  that  Scotch  lady  who  worshipped  the  old 


THE  PEACOCKS.  117 

Eegalia  of  the  northern  kingdom.  Only  it  was  the 
antiquity  that  Dolly  worshipped,  you  know;  not 
the  royalty." 

"What  is  there  in  antiquity?"  said  Mr.  St.  Leger, 
turning  his  eyes  again  curiously  to  Dolly.  "  Old 
things  were  young  once;  how  are  they  any  better 
for  being  old  ? '' 

"Xot  any  better;  only  more  interesting." 

"  Pray  tell  me  why." 

"  Think  of  what  those  old  stones  have  seen." 

"  Pardon  me;  they  have  not  seen  anything." 

"Think  of  the  eyes  that  have  seen  them,  then. 
Or  stand  before  one  of  those  old  suits  of  armour 
in  the  Tower,  and  think  where  it  lias  been.  Think 
of  the  changes  that  have  come ;  and  what  a  strange 
witness  it  is  for  the  things  that  were  and  have 
passed  away." 

"  I  am  more  interested  in  the  present,"  said  the 
young  man.  "  I  perceive  you  are  romantic." 

Dolly  was  silent.  She  thought  one  of  those  halls 
of  old  armour  in  the  Tower  was  in  its  attractions 
very  far  beyond  the  present  ^irmer  table;  although 
indeed  this  amused  her.  Presently  her  companion 
began  again  and  gave  her  details  about  all  the 
guests;  who  they  were,  and  how  they  happened 
to  be  there;  and  then  suddenly  asked  her  if  she 
had  ever  been  to  the  races  ?  Dolly  inquired  what 
races;  and  was  informed  that  the  Newmarket  races 
were  just  beginning.  Would  she  like  to  go  to 
them  ?  was  inquired  eagerly. 

Dolly  had  no  idea  what  was  the  real  character 


118  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

of  the  show  she  was  asked  about;  and  she  an- 
swered in  accordance  with  her  general  craving  to 
see  everything.  Nevertheless  she  was  somewhat 
surprised,  when  the  gentlemen  came  up  from  din- 
ner, to  hear  the  proposition  earnestly  made;  made 
by  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  St.  Leger ;  that  she  and  her 
father  should  go  with  them  the  next  day  to  the 
Newmarket  races;  and  she  was  greatly  astonished 
to  hear  her  father  agree  to  the  proposal,  although 
the  acceptance  of  it  involved  the  staying  another 
day  away  from  home  and  the  sleeping  a  second 
night  at  the  St.  Leger  place.  But  Dolly  was  not 
consulted.  The  family  expressed  their  pleasure  in 
undoubted  terms,  and  young  Mr.  St.  Leger's  blue 
eyes  had  a  gleam  of  satisfaction  in  them,  as  he 
assured  Dolly  that  now  they  would  "shew  her 
something  of  interest  in  the  present." 

Dolly  was  the  youngest  guest  in  the  house,  and 
by  all  rules  the  one  entitled  to  least  consideration ; 
yet  she  went  to  sleep  that  night  in  a  chamber  the 
most  superb  she  had  ever  inhabited  in  her  life. 
She  looked  around  her  with  wonder  at  the  rich- 
ness of  every  matter  of  detail,  and  a  little  private 
query  how  she,  little  Dolly  Copley,  came  to  be  so 
lodged?  Her  mother  would  have  no  reason  here 
to  complain  of  want  of  due  regard.  And  all  the 
evening  there  had  been  no  such  complaint  to 
make.  People  had  been  very  kind,  Dolly  said  to 
herself  as  she  was  falling  asleep.  But  how  could 
her  father  have  consented  to  stay  another  day? 
for  any  races  in  the  world;  leaving  her  mother 


THE  PEACOCKS.  119 

alone.  But  she  could  not  help  it;  and  no  doubt 
the  next  day  would  be  amusing;  to-day  had  been 
amusing — and  Dolly's  thoughts  went  no  further. 

The  next  morning  everybody  drove  or  rode  to 
the  races.  Dolly  herself  was  taken  by  young  Mr. 
St.  Leger,  along  with  one  of  his  sisters,  in  an  ele- 
gant little  vehicle  for  which  she  knew  no  name. 
It  was  very  comfortable,  and  they  drove  very  fast; 
till  the  crowd  hindered  them,  that  is;  and  certain- 
ly Dolly  was  amused.  All  was  novel  and  strange 
to  her;  the  concourse,  the  equipages,  the  people, 
the  horses,  even  before  they  arrived  at  the  race 
grounds.  There  a  good  position  was  secured,  and 
Dolly  saw  the  whole  of  that  day's  performances. 
Mr.  St.  Leger  attended  to  her  unremittingly;  he 
and  his  sister  explained  everything,  and  pointed 
out  the  people  of  mark  within  their  range  of  vi- 
sion ;  his  blue  eyes  grew  quite  animated,  and  looked 
into  Dolly's  to  see  what  they  could  find  there,  of 
response  or  otherwise.  Arid  Dolly's  eyes  were 
grave  and  wide-awake,  intent,  very  busy,  very 
lively;  but  how  far  they  were  brightened  with 
pleasure  he  could  not  tell.  They  were  bright,  he 
saw  that;  fearless,  pure,  sweet  eyes,  that  yet  baffled 
him ;  no  trace  of  self-consciousness  or  self-seeking 
was  to  be  found  in  them;  and  young  St.  Leger 
stood  a  little  in  awe,  as  common  men  will,  before 
a  face  so  uncommon.  He  ventured  no  direct  ques- 
tion for  the  satisfying  of  his  curiosity  until  they 
had  returned,  and  dinner  was  over.  Indeed  he  did 
not  venture  it  then;  it  was  his  father  who  asked 


120  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

it.  He  too  had  observed  the  simple,  well-bred, 
lovely  little  maiden,  and  had  a  little  curiosity  on 
his  own  part. 

"  Well,  Miss  Copley — now  you  have  seen  New- 
market ;  how  do  you  like  it  ?  " 

Dolly  hesitated.  "I  have  been  very  much  in- 
terested, sir,  thank  you,"  she  said  gravely. 

"  But  how  do  you  like  it  ?     Did  you  enjoy  it  ?  " 

Dolly  hesitated  again.  Finally  smiled  and  con- 
fessed. "  I  was  sorry  for  the  horses." 

"  Sorry  for  the  horses ! "  her  host  repeated. 
"  What  for  ?  " 

"  Yes,  what  for  ?  "  added  the  younger  St.  Leger. 
"They  were  not  ill  treated." 

"No, — "  said  Dolly  doubtfully, — "perhaps  not, 
— but  they  were  running  very  hard,  and  for 
nothing." 

"For  nothing! "  echoed  Mr.  St.  Leger  again.  "  It 
was  for  a  good  many  thousand  pound.  There's 
many  a  one  was  there  to-day  who  wishes  they 
had  run  for  nothing ! " 

"  But  after  all,  that  is  for  nothing,"  said  Dolly. 
"  It  is  no  good  to  anybody." 

"  Except  to  those  that  win,"  said  the  old  gentle- 
man. "  Except  to  those  that  win  !  "  Probably  he 
had  won. 

Dolly  wanted  to  get  out  of  the  conversation. 
She  made  no  answer.  Another  gentleman  spoke 
up,  and  opined,  were  it  not  for  the  money  won  and 
lost,  the  whole  thing  would  fail  of  its  attraction. 
It  would  be  no  sport  indeed,  if  the  horses  ran  for 


THE  PEACOCKS.  121 

nothing.  "Do  you  have  no  races  in — a — your  coun- 
try?" he  asked  Dolly. 

Dolly  believed  so.  She  had  never  been  present 
at  them. 

"  Nothing  like  Newmarket,"  said  her  father. 
"We  shall  have  nothing  to  shew  like  that  for 
some  time.  But  Dolly  takes  practical  views.  I 
saw  her  smiling  out  of  the  windows,  as  we  drove 
along,  coming  here  yesterday;  and  I  asked  her 
what  she  was  thinking  of?  I  expected  to  hear 
her  say,  the  beauty  of  the  plantations,  or  the 
richness  of  the  country,  or  the  elegance  and  va- 
riety of  the  equipages  we  passed.  She  answered 
me  she  was  thinking  ivhat  she  should  do  with  her 
life  !  " 

There  was  a  general  gentle  note  of  amusement 
audible  through  the  room,  but  old  Mr.  St.  Leger 
laughed  out  in  a  broad  "  ha,  ha." 

"What  did  you  conclude,  my  dear?"  said  he. 
"What  did  you  conclude?  1  am  interested  to 
know." 

"  I  could  not  conclude  then,  sir,"  said  Dolly, 
beai-ing  the  laugh  very  well,  with  a  pretty  little 
peach-blossom  blush  coming  upon  her  cheeks. 

"Tisn't  difficult  to  know,"  the  old  gentleman 
went  on,  not  unkindly  watching  Dolly's  face  play. 
"  There  is  one  pretty  certain  lot  for  a  pretty  young 
woman.  She  will  manage  her  household,  take 
care  of  her  husband,  and  bring  up  her  children, — 
one  of  these  days." 

"  That  is  not  precisely  the  ambition  of  all  pretty 


122  THE   END  OF  A  COIL. 

young  women,"  remarked  one  of  the  party;  while 
Mrs.  St.  Leger  good  humouredly  drew  Dolly  down 
to  a  seat  beside  her  and  engrossed  her  attention. 

"  You  meant  the  words  perhaps  in  another  sense, 
more  practical,  that  your  father  did  not  think  of. 
You  were  thinking  maybe  what  profession  you 
would  follow  ?  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  ma'am  ?  "  said  Dolly,  quite 
perplexed  now.  "  How  do  you  mean,  profession  ?  " 

"Yes;  perhaps  you  were  thinking  of  being  a 
governess  some  day,  or  a  teacher,  or  something 
of  that  sort ;  were  you  ?  " 

Dolly's  face  dimpled  all  over  in  a  way  that 
seemed  to  young  St.  Leger  the  very  prettiest,  wiii- 
ningest,  most  uncommon  loveliness  that  his  eyes 
had  ever  been  blessed  with.  Said  eyes  were  insep- 
arable from  Dolly;  he  had  no  attention  but  for  her 
looks  and  words;  arid  his  mother  knew  as  much, 
while  she  too  looked  at  the  girl  and  waited  for 
her  answer. 

"0  no,"  Dolly  said;  "I  was  not  thinking  of  any 
such  thing.  My  father  does  not  wish  me  to  do 
any  thing  of  the  kind." 

"Then  what  did  you  mean,  my  dear?" 

Dolly  lifted  a  pair  of  sweet  grave  eyes  to  the 
face  of  her  questioner;  a  full,  rather  bloated  face, 
very  florid;  with  an  expression  of  eyes  kindly  in- 
deed, but  unresting,  dissatisfied;  or  if  that  is  too 
strong  a  word,  not  content.  Dolly  looked  at  all 
this  and  answered. 

"  I  don't  want  to  live  merely  to  live,  ma'am." 


THE  PEACOCKS.  123 

"Don't  you?  What  more  do  you  want?  To  live 
pleasantly,  of  course ;  for  not  to  do  that,  is  not  what 
I  call  living." 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  pleasant  living.  But — I 
do  not  want  my  life  to  be  like  those  horses'  run- 
ning to-day,"  said  Dolly  smiling; — "for  nothing; 
of  no  use." 

"Don't  you  think  a  woman  is  of  use  and  fills 
her  place,  my  dear,  who  looks  after  her  household 
and  attends  to  her  family,  and  does  her  duty  by 
society  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Dolly  hesitating, — "  but  that  is  not 
enough."  The  girl  was  thinking  of  her  own  moth- 
er at  the  moment. 

"Not  enough?  Why  yes,  it  is  enough.  That  is 
a  woman's  place  and  business.  What  else  would 
you  do  ?  " 

Dolly  was  in  some  embarrassment  now.  She 
must  answer,  for  Mrs.  St.  Leger  was  waiting  for 
it;  but  her  answer  could  not  be  understood.  Her 
eye  took  in  again  the  rich  appliances  for  present 
enjoyment  which  filled  the  room,  above,  below, 
and  around  her;  and  then  she  said,  her  eye  coming 
back, 

"  I  would  like  my  life  to  be  good  for  something 
that  would  not  pass  away." 

"  Not  pass  away  ?  Why  everything  passes  away, 
my  child,"  (and  there  came  a  sigh  here,) — "in 
time.  The  thing  is  to  make  the  best  of  them 
while  we  have  them." 

Is  that  all?  thought  Dolly,  as  she  noticed  the 


124  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

untested,  rather  sad  look  of  her  hostess's  face ;  and 
she  wished  she  could  say  more,  but  she  dared  not. 
Then  young  Mr.  St.  Leger  bent  forward,  and  in- 
quired what  she  could  be  thinking  of  that  would 
not  pass  away?  His  mother  saw  the  look  with 
which  his  blue  eyes  sought  the  face  of  the  little 
stranger;  and  turned  away  with  another  sigh,  born 
half  of  sympathy  with  her  boy's  feeling  and  half 
of  jealousy  against  the  subject  of  it.  Dolly  saw  the 
look  too,  but  did  not  comprehend  it.  She  simply 
wondered  why  these  people  put  her  through  the 
catechism  so  ? 

"What  could  you  be  thinking  of?"  St.  Leger  re- 
peated, sliding  into  the  seat  his  mother  had  quitted. 

"Don't  you  know  anything  that  will  last?"  Dol- 
ly retorted. 

"No,"  said  the  young  man  laughing.  "Do  you? 
Except  that  I  have  heard  that  'A  thing  of  beauty 
is  a  joy  forever.'  " 

This,  which  was  a  remarkable  flight  for  St.  Leger, 
was  lost  upon  simple  Dolly. 

"01  know  that  is  true,"  she  answered;  "but 
that  is  just  a  way  of  speaking.  It  would  not  be  a 
joy  to  me,  if  I  had  not  something  else  to  hold  to. 
I  am  sorry  for  you." 

"  Really  ?  I  wish  I  could  think  that.  It  would 
be  delightful  to  have  you  sorry  for  me." 

"  It  would  be  much  better  not  to  need  it." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that.  Perhaps,  if  you  were 
very  sorry  for  me,  you  would  try  to  teach  me 
better." 


THE  PEACOCKS.  125 

"Perhaps;  but  I  shall  not  have  time.  I  sup- 
pose we  shall  go  away  very  early  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

"  I  should  like  to  shew  you  the  gardens,  first." 

"  Haven't  we  seen  them  ?  " 

"  Why  of  course  not.  All  that  you  have  seen  is 
a  little  shrubbery  and  a  bit  of  the  park.  Suppose 
we  go  over  the  gardens  in  the  morning?  " 

"1  am  sure  we  shall  return  home  immediately 
after  breakfast." 

"  Before  breakfast  then  ?     Why  not  ?  " 

This  plan  went  into  effect.  It  was  an  occasion 
of  great  pleasure  to  both  parties.  No  better  time 
could  be  for  seeing  the  utmost  beauty  of  the  flow- 
ers; and  Dolly  wandered  in  what  was  to  her  a 
wilderness  of  an  enchanted  land.  Breakfast  was 
forgotten;  and  young  St.  Leger  was  so  charmed 
with  this  perfectly  fresh,  simple,  and  lively  nature, 
that  he  for  his  part  was  willing  to  forget  it  indefi- 
nitely. Dolly's  utter  delight,  and  her  intelligent, 
quick  apprehension,  the  sparkle  in  her  eye,  the 
happy  colour  in  her  cheeks,  made  her  to  his  fancy 
the  rarest  thing  he  had  ever  seen.  The  gardener, 
who  was  summoned  to  give  information  of  which 
his  young  master  was  not  possessed,  entertained 
quite  the  same  opinion;  and  thanks  to  his  admir- 
ing gratification  Dolly  went  back  to  the  house 
the  possessor  of  a  most  superb  bouquet,  which 
he  had  cut  for  her  and  offered  through  Mr.  St. 
Leger. 

There  were  some  significant  half  smiles  around 


126  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

the  breakfast  table,  as  the  young  pair  and  the 
flowers  made  their  appearance.  St.  Leger  braved 
them;  Dolly  did  not  see  them.  Her  sweet  eyes 
were  full  of  the  blissful  enchantment  still.  Im- 
mediately after  breakfast,  as  she  had  said,  her 
father  took  leave. 

Mrs.    Copley  had    awaited    their    coming  in   a 
mood  half  irritation,  half  gratification.     The  lat- 
ter conquered  when  she  saw  Dolly. 
v  "Now  tell  me  all  about  it!"   she  said,  before 
Dolly  even  could  take  off  her  bonnet. 

"  She  went  to  the  races — "  said  Mr.  Copley. 

"That's  a  queer  place  for  Dolly  to  go,  Mr. 
Copley." 

"  Not  at  all.     Everybody  goes,  that  can  go." 

"I  think  it's  a  queer  place  for  young  ladies  to 
go,"  persisted  the  mother. 

"  It  is  a  queer  place  enough  for  anybody,  if  you 
come  to  that;  but  no  worse  for  them  than  for 
others;  and  it  is  they  make  the  scene  so  pretty  as 
it  is." 

"  I  can't  imagine  how  there  should  be  anything 
pretty  in  seeing  horses  run  to  death ! "  said  Mrs. 
Copley. 

"I  just  said,  it  is  the  pretty  girls  that  give  the 
charm,"  said  her  husband.  "Though  I  can  see 
some  beauty  in  a  fine  horse,  and  in  good  riding; 
and  they  understand  riding,  those  Newmarket 
jockeys." 

"Jockeys!"  his  wife  repeated.  "I  don't  want 
to  hear  you  talk  about  jockeys,  Mr.  Copley." 


THE  PEACOCKS.  127 

"  I  am  not  going  to,  my  dear.  I  give  up  the 
field  to  Dolly." 

"  Mother,  the  first  thing  was  the  place.  It  is  a 
most  beautiful  place." 

"  The  race-ground  ?  " 

"No,  no,  mother;  Mr.  St.  Leger's  place.  'The 
Peacocks,'  they  call  it." 

"  What  do  they  give  it  such  a  ridiculous  name  for?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  Perhaps  they  used  to  have  a 
great  many  peacocks.  But  the  place  is  the  most 
beautiful  place  I  ever  saw.  Mother,  we  were  half 
an  hour  driving  from  the  lodge  at  the  park  gate  to 
the  house." 

"The  road  so  bad  ?  " 

"So  long,  mother;  think  of  it;  half  an  hour 
through  the  park  woods,  until  we  carne  out  upon 
the  great  lawn  dotted  with  the  noblest  trees  you 
ever  saw." 

"  Better  than  the  trees  in  Boston  common  ?  I 
guess  not,"  said  Mrs.  Copley. 

"Those  are  good  trees,  mother,  but  nothing  to 
these.  These  are  just  magnificent." 

"  I  don't  see  why  fine  trees  cannot  grow  as  well 
on  American  ground  as  on  English,"  said  Mrs. 
Copley  incredulously. 

"  Give  them  time  enough — "  put  in  her  husband. 

"  Time !— " 

"Yes.  We  are  a  new  country,  comparatively, 
my  dear.  These  old  oaks  here  have  been  growing 
for  hundreds  of  years." 

"And  what  should  hinder  them  from  growing 


128  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

hundreds  of  years  over  there  ?  I  suppose  the  ground 
is  as  old  as  England ;  if  Columbus  didn't  discover 
it  all  at  once." 

"  The  ground,"  said  Mr.  Copley,  eyeing  the  floor 
between  his  boots, — uyes,  the  ground;  but  it  takes 
more  than  ground  to  make  large  trees.  It  takes 
good  ground,  and  favouring  climate,  and  culture; 
or  at  least  to  be  let  alone.  Now  we  don't  let 
things  alone  in  America." 

"  I  know  you  don't,"  said  his  wife.  "  Well, 
Dolly,  go  on  with  your  story." 

"Well,  mother,  —  there  were  these  grand  old 
trees,  and  beautiful  grass  under  them,  and  cattle 
here  and  there,  and  the  house  shewing  in  the  dis- 
tance. I  did  not  like  the  house  so  very  much,  when 
we  came  to  it;  it  is  not  old;  but  it  is  exceedingly 
handsome,  and  most  beautifully  furnished.  I  never 
had  such  a  room  in  my  life,  as  I  have  slept  in  these 
two  nights." 

"  And  yet  you  don't  like  it ! "  put  in  Mr.  Copley. 

"  I  like  it — "  said  Dolly  slowly.  "  I  like  all  the 
comfort  of  it;  but  I  don't  think  it  is  very  pretty, 
father.  It's  very  new." 

"New!"  said  her  father.  "What's  the  harm 
of  a  thing's  being  new  ?  And  what  is  the  charm 
of  its  being  old  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Dolly  thoughtfully;  "but 
I  like  it.  Then,  mother,  came  the  dinner;  and  the 
dinner  was  like  the  house." 

"That  don't  tell  me  anything,"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Copley.  "  What  was  the  house  like  ?  " 


THE  PEACOCKS.  129 

"Mother,  you  go  first  into  a  great  hall,  set  all 
round  with  marble  figures — statues — and  with  a 
heavy  staircase  going  up  at  one  side.  It's  all 
marble.  But  oh,  the  flower  garden  is  lovely  !  " 

"  Well,  tell  me  about  the  house,"  said  Mrs.  Cop- 
ley. "  And  the  dinner.  Who  was  there  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Dolly;  "quite  a  company. 
There  were  one  or  two  foreign  gentlemen ;  a  count 
somebody  and  a  baron  somebody;  there  was  an 
English  judge,  and  his  wife,  and  two  or  three  other 
ladies  and  gentlemen." 

"  How  did  you  like  the  gentlemen,  Dolly  ?  "  her 
father  asked  here. 

"  I  had  hardly  anything  to  do  with  them,  except 
the  two  Mr.  St.  Legers." 

'  "  How  did  you  like  them  ?  I  suppose,  on  your 
principle,  you  would  tell  me  that  you  liked  the  old 
one  ?  " 

"  Never  mind  them,"  said  Mrs.  Copley ;  "  go  on 
about  the  dinner.  What  did  you  have  ?  " 

"0  everything,  mother;  and  the  most  beautiful 
fruit  at  dessert;  fruit  from  their  own  hothouses; 
and  I  saw  the  hothouses,  afterwards.  Most  beau- 
tiful !  the  purple  and  white  grapes  were  hanging 
in  thick  clusters  all  over  the  vines;  and  quantities 
of  different  sorts  of  pines  were  growing  in  another 
hothouse.  I  had  a  bunch  of  Frontignacs  this 
morning  before  breakfast,  father;  and  I  never 
had  grapes  taste  so  good." 

"Yes,  you  must  have  wanted  something,"  said 
Mr.  Copley;  "wandering  about  among  flowers 


130  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

and  fruit  till  ten  o'clock  without  anything  to 
eat ! " 

"  Poor  Mr.  St.  Leger  ! "  said  Dolly.  "  But  he  was 
very  kind.  They  were  all  very  kind.  If  they  only 
would  not  drink  wine  so !  " 

"  Wine  !  "  Mrs.  Copley  exclaimed. 

"  It  was  all  dinner  time ;  it  began  with  the  soup, 
and  it  did  not  end  Avith  the  fruit,  for  the  gentlemen 
sat  on  drinking  after  we  had  left  them.  And 
they  had  been  drinking  all  dinner  time;  the  de- 
canters just  went  round  and  round." 

"Nonsense,  Dolly!"  her  father  said;  "you  are 
unaccustomed  to  the  world,  that  is  all.  There  was 
none  but  the  most  moderate  drinking." 

"  It  was  all  dinner  time,  father." 

"That  is  the  custom  of  gentlemen  here.  It  ie 
always  so.  Tell  your  mother  about  the  races." 

"I  don't  like  the  races." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Well  tell  me  what  they  were,  at  any  rate,"  said 
Mrs.  Copley.  "  It  is  the  least  you  can  do." 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  tell  you,"  said  Dolly.  "  I 
will  try.  Imagine  a  great  flat  plain,  mother,  level 
as  far  as  the  eye  can  see.  Imagine  a  straight  line 
marked  out,  where  the  horses  are  to  run;  and  at 
the  end  of  it  a  post,  which  is  the  goal,  and  there 
is  the  judge's  stand.  All  about  this  course,  on 
both  sides,  that  is  towards  the  latter  part  of  the 
course,  fancy  rows  of  carriages  drawn  up  as  close 
as  they  can  stand,  the  horses  taken  out;  and  on 
these  carriages  a  crowd  of  people  packed  as  thick 


THE  PEACOCKS.  131 

as  they  can  find  room  to  sit  and  stand.  They  talk 
and  laugh  and  discuss  the  horses.  By  and  by  you 
hear  a  cry  that  the  horses  have  set  off;  and  then 
everybody  looks  to  see  them  coming,  with  all  sorts 
of  glasses  and  telescopes;  and  everybody  is  still, 
waiting  and  watching,  until  I  suppose  the  horses 
get  near  enough  for  people  to  begin  to  judge  how 
the  race  will  turn  out;  and  then  begins  the  fear- 
fullest  uproar  you  ever  heard,  everybody  betting 
and  taking  bets.  Everybody  seemed  to  be  doing 
it,  even  ladies.  And  with  the  betting  comes  the 
shouting,  and  the  cursing,  and  the  cheering  on 
this  one  and  that  one;  it  was  a  regular  Babel. 
Even  the  ladies  betted." 

"  Every  one  does  it — "  said  Mr.  Copley. 

"  And  the  poor  horses  come  running,  and  driven 
to  run  as  hard  as  they  can;  beautiful  horses  too, 
some  of  them ;  running  to  decide  all  those  bets ! 
I  don't  think  it  is  an  amusement  for  civilized 
people." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  her  father. 

"It  is  barbarous.  There  is  no  sense  in  it.  If 
the  white  horse  beats  the  black,  I'll  pay  you  a 
thousand  pounds;  but  if  the  black  horse  beats  the 
white,  you  shall  pay  me  two  thousand.  Is  there 
any  sense  in  that?" 

"  Some  sense  in  a  thousand  pound." 

"  Lost — "  said  Dolly. 

"  It  is  better  not  to  lose,  certainly." 

"  But  somebody  must  lose.  And  people  bet  in  a 
heat,  before  they  know  what  they  ought  to  say; 


132  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

and  bet  more  than  they  have  to  spare;  I  saw  it 
yesterday." 

"  You  didn't  bet,  Mr.  Copley  ?  "  said  his  wife. 

"A  trifle.  My  dear,  Avhen  one  is  in  Rome,  one 
must  do  as  the  Romans  do." 

"  Did  you  lose  ?  " 

"  I  gained,  a  matter  of  fifty  pounds." 

"  Who  did  you  gain  it  from,  father  ?  " 

"  Lawrence  St.  Leger." 

"  He  has  no  right  to  bet  with  his  father's  money." 

"  Perhaps  it  is  his  own.  I  will  give  you  twenty 
pound  of  it,  Dolly,  to  do  what  you  like  with." 

But  Dolly  would  have  none  of  it.  If  it  was  to 
be  peace  money,  it  made  no  peace  with  her. 


CHAPTER   X. 

BRIERLEY    COTTAGE. 

A  few  months  later  than  this,  it  happened  one 
day  that  Mr.  Copley  was  surprised  in  his  of- 
fice by  a  visit  from  young  St.  Leger.  Mr.  Copley 
was  sitting  at  a  table  in  his  own  private  room.  It 
was  not  what  you  would  call  a  very  comfortable 
room;  rather  bare  and  desolate  looking;  a  carpet 
and  some  chairs  and  desks  and  a  table,  being  the 
only  furniture.  The  table  was  heaped  up  with 
papers,  and  desks  and  floor  alike  testified  to  an 
amount  of  heterogeneous  business.  Busy  the  con- 
sul undoubtedly  was,  writing  arid  studying ;  never- 
theless he  welcomed  his  visitor.  The  young  man 
came  in  like  an  inhabitant  of  another  world,  as  he 
was;  in  spotlessly  neat  attire,  leisurely  manner, 
and  with  his  blue  eyes  sleepily  nonchalant  at  the 
sight  of  all  the  stir  of  all  the  world.  But  they 
smiled  at  Mr.  Copley. 

"  You  seem  to  have  your  bands  full,"  he  re- 
marked. 

"Eather.  Don't  I?  Awfully!  Secretary  taken 
sitk  —  confoundedly  inconvenient."  Mr.  Copley 
went  on  writing  as  he  spoke. 


134          -     THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  There  are  plenty  of  secretaries  to  be  had." 

"  Yes,  but  I  haven't  got  hold  of  'era  yet.  What 
brings  you  here,  Lawrence?  Not  business,  I  sup- 
pose ?  " 

"  Not  business  with  the  American  consul." 

"  No.  I  made  out  so  much  by  myself.  What  is 
it?  I  see  all's  right  with  you,  by  your  face." 

"Thank  you.  Quite  so.  But  you  can't  attend 
to  me  just  now." 

"Go  ahead,"  said  Mr.  Copley,  whose  pen  did  not 
cease  to  scribble.  "  I  can  hear.  No  time  for  any- 
thing like  the  present  minute.  I've  got  this  case 
by  heart,  and  don't  need  to  think  about  it.  Go  on, 
Lawrence.  Has  your  father  sent  you  to  me  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Sit  down,  and  tell  me  what  I  can  do  for  you." 

Mr.  St.  Leger  sat  down,  but  did  not  immediately 
comply  with  the  rest  of  the  invitation.  He  rested 
his  elbow  on  the  table,  looked  at  Mr.  Copley's  pen 
for  a  few  minutes,  and  said  nothing;  until  Mr.  Cop- 
ley again  glanced  up  at  his  face. 

"  I  do  not  know  that  you  can  do  anything  for 
me,"  said  the  young  man  then;  "only  you  can  per- 
haps answer  a  question  or  two.  Mr.  Copley,  would 
you  like  to  have  me  for  a  son-in-law  ?  " 

"No,"  said  the  consul  shortly ;  "nor  any  other  man. 
I'd  as  lieve  have  yoji  as  anybody,  Lawrence." 

"  Thank  you.  I  couldn't  expect  more.  But  you 
must  allow  somebody  in  that  capacity,  Mr.  Copley." 

"  Must  I  ?  Depends  on  how  much  Dolly  likes 
somebody." 


BRIERLEY  COTTAGE.  135 

"  That  is  just  what  I  want  to  find  out  about  my- 
self," said  the  young  man  eagerly.  "Then  you 
would  not  put  any  hindrance  ?  " 

"In  the  way  of  Dolly's  happiness?  Not  if  I 
know  it.  But  thafs  got  to  be  proved." 

"You  know,  Mr.  Copley,  she  would  be  happy 
with  me." 

"  How  do  I  know  that  ?  I  know  nothing  of  the 
kind.  It  all  depends  on  Dolly,  I  tell  you.  What 
does  she  think  about  it  ?  " 

"  That's  just  what  I  don't  know,  and  cannot  find 
out.  I  have  no  chance.  I  cannot  get  sight  of  her." 

"Her  mother's  sick,  you  see.  It  keeps  Dolly  at 
home." 

"  My  mother  has  proposed  several  times  to  take 
Miss  Copley  out  with  her,  and  she  will  not  go." 

"She's  very  kind,  and  we  are  grateful;  but  Dolly 
won't  leave  her  mother." 

"So  she  says.  Then  how  am  I  to  see  her,  Mr.  Cop- 
ley ?  I  can't  expect  her  to  like  me  if  I  never  see  her." 

"I  don't  know,  my  boy.     Wait  till  better  times." 

"  Wait "  is  a  word  that  lovers  never  want  to 
hear;  and  Lawrence  sat  discontentedly  watching 
the  play  of  Mr.  Copley's  pen. 

"You  know  it  would  be  all  right  about  the 
money,"  he  said  at  length. 

"  Yes,  yes ;  between  your  father  and  her  father, 
I  guess  we  could  make  it  comfortable  for  you  two. 
But  the  thing  is  all  the  while,  what  Dolly  thinks 
of  you." 

"  And  how  am  I  to  find  that  out  ?  " 


136  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"Cau't  tell,  I  declare.  Unless  you  volunteer  to 
become  my  secretary." 

"  Does  your  secretary  live  in  your  family  ?  " 

"  Of  course  he  does.     One  of  us  completely." 

"  Will  you  take  me,  Mr.  Copley  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  you  would  never  take  the  drudgery. 
It  is  not  in  your  line." 

"  Try  me,"  said  the  young  man.  "  I'll  take  it  at 
once.  Will  you  have  me,  Mr.  Copley  ?  But  she 
must  not  know  what  you  take  me  for.  I  don't 
care  for  the  drudgery.  Will  you  let  me  come? 
On  trial  ?  " 

"  Why  is  the  boy  in  earnest?  This  is  Jacob  and 
Rachel  over  again  !  " 

"  Not  for  seven  years,  I  hope." 

"  No,  I  shall  not  stay  in  this  old  crib  as  long 
as  that.  The  question  will  have  to  be  decided 
sooner.  We  haven't  so  much  time  to  spare  as 
those  old  patriarchs.  But  Dolly  must  have  time 
to  make  up  her  mind,  if  it  takes  seven  years.  She 
is  a  queer  little  piece,  and  usually  has  a  mind  of 
her  own.  About  this  affair  she  certainly  will.  I'll 
give  Mrs.  Copley  a  hint  to  keep  quiet,  and  Dolly 
will  never  suspect  anything." 

Lawrence  was  so  thoroughly  in  earnest  that 
he  insisted  on  going  to  work  at  once.  And  the 
next  day  he  was  introduced  at  the  house  and 
made  at  home  there. 

It  was  quite  true  that  Mrs.  Copley  was  unwell ; 
the  doctors  were  not  yet  agreed  as  to  the  cause. 
She  was  feeble  and  nervous  and  feverish,  and 


BRIERLEY  COTTAGE.  137 

Dolly's  time  was  wholly  devoted  to  her.  In  these 
circumstances  St.  Leger's  coming  into  the  family 
made  a  very  pleasant  change.  Dolly  wondered  a 
little  that  the  rich  banker's  son  should  care  to  do 
business  in  the  American  consul's  office;  but  she 
troubled  her  head  little  about  it.  What  he  did  in 
the  office  was  out  of  her  sphere;  at  home,  in  the 
family,  he  was  a  great  improvement  on  the  former 
secretary.  Mr.  Barr,  his  predecessor,  had  been  an 
awkward,  angular,  taciturn  fourth  person  in  the 
house ;  a  machine  of  the  pen ;  nothing  more.  Mr. 
St.  Leger  brought  quite  a  new  life  into  the  family 
circle.  It  is  true,  he  was  himself  no  great  talker; 
but  his  blue  eyes  were,  eloquent.  They  were  beau- 
tiful eyes;  and  they  spoke  of  kindness  of  heart, 
gentleness  of  disposition,  and  undoubted  liking  for 
his  present  companions.  There  was  refinement 
too,  and  the  habit  of  the  world,  and  the  power  of 
comprehending  at  least  what  others  spoke;  anol 
gentle  as  he  was,  there  was  also  now  and  then  a 
gleam  which  shewed  some  fire  and  some  persistent 
self-will;  that  amount  of  back  bone  without  which 
a  man's  agreeable  qualities  go  for  nothing  with 
women.  It  was  pleasant,  his  respectful  attention 
to  Mrs.  Copley;  it  was  pleasant  too  the  assistance 
he  was  to  Mr.  Copley's  monologues;  if  he  did  not 
say  a  great  deal  himself,  his  blue  eyes  gave  intel- 
ligent heed,  and  he  could  also  now  and  then  say 
a  word  in  the  right  place.  With  Dolly  he  took 
very  soon  the  familiar  habit  of  a  brother.  She 
liked  him,  she  liked  to  pour  out  his  coffee  for  him, 


138  THE   END  OF  A  COIL. 

it  amused  her  to  hear  her  father  talk  to  him,  she 
was  grateful  for  his  kindness  to  her  mother;  and 
before  long  the  words  exchanged  between  them- 
selves came  in  the  easy,  enjoyable  tone  of  a  thor- 
ough good  understanding.  I  don't  know  but  St. 
Leger  would  have  liked  a  little  more  shyness  on 
her  part.  Dolly  was  not  given  to  shyness  in  any 
company ;  and  as  to  being  shy  with  him,  she  would 
as  soon  have  thought  of  being  on  terms  of  cere- 
mony with  Berdan,  the  great  hound  that  her  father 
was  so  proud  of.  And  poor  St.  Leger  was  more 
hopelessly  in  love  every  day.  Dolly  was  so  fresh 
and  cool  and  sweet,  as  she  came  down  to  break- 
fast in  her  white  wrapper;  she  was  so  despairingly 
careless  and  free;  and  at  evening,  dressed  for  din- 
ner, she  was  so  quiet  and  simple  and  graceful;  it 
was  another  thing,  he  said  to  himself,  seeing  a  girl 
in  this  way,  from  dancing  with  her  in  a  cloud  of 
lace  and  flowers  in  a  crowded  room,  and  talking 
conventional  nothings.  Now,  on  the  contrary,  he 
was  always  admiring  Dolly's  practical  business 
ways;  the  quick  eye  and  capable  hand;  the  effi- 
cient attention  she  bestowed  on  the  affairs  of  the 
household  and  gave  to  her  father's  and  mother's 
comfort,  and  also  not  less  to  his  own.  And  she 
was  quaint;  she  moved  curiosity.  With  all  her 
beauty,  she  never  seemed  to  think  of  her  looks; 
and  with  all  her  spirit  and  sense,  she  never  seemed 
to  talk  but  when  she  had  something  to  say;  while 
yet,  if  anything  in  the  conversation  deserved  it, 
it  was  worth  while  to  catch  the  sparkle  of  Dolly's 


BRIERLEY  COTTAGE.  139 

eye  and  see  her  face  dimple.  Nevertheless  she 
would  often  sit  for  a  long  time  silent  at  the  table, 
when  others  were  talking,  and  remind  nobody  vol- 
untarily of  her  presence. 

Spring  had  come  now,  and  London  was  filling; 
and  Lawrence  was  hoping  for  some  gayeties  that 
would  draw  Dolly  out  into  society,  notwithstand- 
ing his  secret  confession  about  ball  rooms.  He 
wanted  to  see  how  she  would  bear  the  great  world, 
how  she  would  meet  it;  but  still  more  he  hoped  to 
have  some  chance  to  make  himself  of  importance 
to  her.  And  then  the  doctors  decided  that  Mrs. 
Copley  must  go  into  the  country. 

What  was  to  be  done?  Mr.  Copley  could  not 
quit  London  without  giving  up  his  office.  To  any 
distance  Mrs.  Copley  could  not  go  without  him. 
The  dilemma,  which  Lawrence  at  first  had  heard 
of  with  dismay,  turned  for  his  advantage;  or  he 
hoped  so.  His  father  owned  a  cottage  in  a  pretty 
part  of  the  country,  not  a  great  many  miles  from 
London,  which  cottage  just  then  was  untenanted. 
Mr.  Copley  could  run  down  there  any  day  (so  could 
he);  and  Mrs.  Copley  would  be  in  excellent  air,  with 
beautiful  surroundings.  This  plan  was  agreed  to, 
and  Lawrence  hurried  away  to  make  the  needful 
arrangements  with  his  father  and  at  the  cottage. 

"  0  dear ! "  said  Mrs.  Copley,  when  all  this  was 
communicated  to  her, — "why  can't  we  go  home?" 

"Father  is  not  ready  for  that,  mother,"  Dolly 
said  somewhat  sadly. 

"Where  is  this  place  you  are  talking  of?" 


140  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  Down  in shire.  Mr.  St.  Leger  says  you 

will  be  sure  to  like  it." 

"  Mr.  St.  Leger  doesn't  know  everything.  Is  the 
house  furnished  ?  " 

"  I  believe  so.  0  I  hope  it  will  be  very  pleasant, 
mother  dear.  It's  a  pretty  place;  and  they  say 
it  will  be  very  good  for  you." 

"Who  says  so ? " 

"  The  doctors." 

"  They  don't  know  everything,  either.  I  tell  you 
what  I  believe  would  do  me  good,  Dolly;  only  your 
father  never  wants  what  I  want,  unless  he  wants  it 
at  a  different  time;  I  should  like  to  go  travelling." 

"Travelling! — Where?"  Dolly  exclaimed  and  in- 
quired. 

"Anywhere.  I  want  a  change.  I  am  so  tired 
of  London,  I  could  die !  I  have  swallowed  dust 
and  fog  enough  to  kill  me.  I  should  like  to  go 
where  there  is  no  dust.  That  would  be  a  change. 
I  should  like  to  go  to  Venice." 

"  Venice !  So  should  I,"  said  Dolly  in  a  changed 
tone.  "  Well,  mother,  we'll  go  down  first  to  this  cot- 
tage in  the  country — they  say  it's  delightful  there ; — 
and  then,  if  it  does  you  good,  youll  be  well  enough; 
and  we  will  coax  father  to  take  us  to  Italy." 

"I  don't  care  about  Italy.  I  only  want  to  be 
quiet  in  Venice,  where  there  are  no  carts  or  om- 
nibusses.  I  don't  believe  this  cottage  will  do  me 
one  bit  of  good." 

"  Mother,  I  guess  it  will.  At  any  rate,  I  suppose 
we  must  try." 


BRIERLEY  COTTAGE.  141 

"  I  wish  your  father  could  have  been  contented 
at  home,  when  he  was  well  off.  It's  very  unlucky 
he  ever  brought  us  here.  I  don't  see  what  is  to 
become  of  you,  for  my  part." 

Dolly  suppressed  a  sigh  at  this  point. 

"You  know  what  the  Bible  says,  mother.  'All 
things  shall  work  together  for  good,  to  them  that 
love  God.' " 

"  I  don't  want  to  hear  that  sort  of  talk,  Dolly." 

"Why  not,  mother?" 

"  It  don't  mean  anything.  I  would  rather  have 
people  shew  their  religion  in  their  lives,  than  hear 
them  talk  about  it." 

"But  mother,  isn't  there  comfort  in  those  words?" 

"  No.     It  ain't  true." 

"  0  mother !      WTuxt  isn't  true  ?  " 

"That.  There  is  a  difference  between  things, 
and  there  is  no  use  trying  to  make  out  they're  all 
alike.  Sour  isn't  sweet,  and  hard  ain't  soft.  What's 
the  use  of  talking  as  if  it  was  ?  I  always  like  to 
look  at  things  just  as  they  are." 

"  But  mother !— " 

"Now  don't  talk,  Dolly!  but  just  tell  me.  What 
is  the  good  of  my  getting  sick  just  now  ?  just  now, 
when  you  ought  to  be  going  into  company  ?  And 
we  have  got  to  give  up  our  house,  and  you  and  I 
go  and  bury  ourselves  down  in  some  out  of  the 
way  place,  and  your  father  get  along  as  he  can ; 
and  how  we  shall  get  along  without  him  to  man- 
age, I  am  sure  I  don't  know." 

"  He  will  run  down  to  see  us  often,  mother." 


142  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"The  master's  eye  wants  to  be  all  the  while  on 
the  spot,  if  anything  is  to  keep  straight." 

"But  this  is  such  a  little  spot;  I  think  my  eye 
can  manage  it." 

"  Then  how  are  you  going  to  take  care  of  me  ? — 
if  you  are  overseeing  the  place.  And  I  don't  be- 
lieve my  nerves  are  going  to  stand  it,  all  alone 
down  there.  It'll  be  lonely.  I'd  rather  hear  the 
carts  rattle.  It's  dreadful,  to  hear  nothing." 

"Well,  we  will  try  how  it  goes,  mother;  and  if 
it  does  not  go  well,  we  will  try  somewhere  else." 

The  house  in  town  was  given  up,  and  Mr.  Cop- 
ley moved  into  lodgings.  Some  furniture  and  two 
servants  were  sent  down  to  the  cottage;  but  the 
very  day  when  the  ladies  were  to  follow,  Mr.  Copley 
was  taken  possession  of  by  some  really  important 
business.  The  secretary  volunteered  to  supply  his 
place ;  and  in  his  company  Mrs.  Copley  and  Dolly 
made  the  little  journey,  one  warm  summer  day. 

Dolly  had  her  own  causes  for  anxiety,  the  weight- 
ier that  they  must  be  kept  to  herself.  Neverthe- 
less, the  influence  of  sweet  nature  could  not  be 
withstood.  The  change  from  city  streets  and 
crowds  to  the  green  leafiness  of  June  in  the  coun- 
try, the  quiet  of  unpaved  roads,  the  deliciousness 
of  the  air  full  of  scents  from  woodland  and  field,  ex- 
cited Dolly  like  champagne.  Every  nerve  thrilled 
with  delight;  her  eyes  could  not  get  enough,  nor 
her  lungs.  And  when  they  arrived  at  the  cottage, 
Brierley  Cottage  it  was  called,  she  was  filled  with 
a  glad  surprise.  It  was  no  common,  close,  musty, 


BRIERLEY  COTTAGE.  143 

uncomfortable  little  dwelling;  but  a  roomy  old 
house  with  plenty  of  space,  dark  oak  wainscotings, 
casement  windows  with  little  diamond  panes,  and 
a  wide  porch  covered  with  climbing  roses  and  hon- 
eysuckle. These  were  in  blossom  now,  and  the  air 
was  perfumed  with  their  incomparable  sweetness. 
Eound  the  house  lay  a  small  garden  ground,  which 
having  been  some  time  without  care  looked  pretty 
wild. 

Dolly  uttered  her  delight  as  the  party  entered 
the  porch.  Mrs.  Copley  passed  on  silently,  look- 
ing at  everything  with  critical  eyes. 

"What  a  charming  old  house,  mother!  so  airy 
and  so  old-fashioned,  and  so  everything  nice." 

"  I  am  afraid  there  is  not  much  furniture  in  it," 
remarked  the  secretary. 

"  We  don't  want  much,  for  two  people,"  said 
Dolly  gayly. 

"But  when  your  father  brings  a  dinner  party 
down,"  said  Mrs.  Copley ;  "  how  does  he  suppose 
we  shall  manage  then  ?  You  must  have  chairs  for 
people  to  sit  on." 

Dolly  did  not  answer;  it  had  struck  her  that  her 
father  had  no  intention  of  bringing  dinner  parties 
down,  and  that  he  had  made  his  arrangements 
with  an  evident  exclusion  of  any  such  idea.  He 
had  thought  two  women  servants  enough.  For 
the  rest,  leaving  parties  out  of  consideration,  the 
house  had  a  rambling  supply  of  old  furniture,  suit- 
ing it  well  enough;  it  looked  pretty,  and  quaint, 
and  cool ;  and  Dolly  for  her  part  was  well  content. 


144  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

They  went  over  the  place,  taking  a  general  sur- 
vey; and  then  Mrs.  Copley  lay  down  on  a  lounge 
while  supper  was  getting  ready,  and  Dolly  and 
Mr.  St.  Leger  went  out  to  the  porch.  Here,  be- 
yond the  roses  and  honeysuckles,  the  eye  found 
first  the  wild  garden  or  pleasure  ground.  There 
was  not  much  of  it,  and  it  was  a  mere  tangle  of 
what  had  once  been  pretty  and  sweet.  It  sloped 
however  down  to  a  little  stream  which  formed  the 
border  of  the  property;  and  on  the  other  side  of 
this  stream  the  ground  rose  in  a  grassy  bank, 
set  with  most  magnificent  oaks  and  beeches.  A 
little  foot  bridge  spanned  the  stream  and  made 
a  picturesque  point  in  the  view,  as  a  bridge  al- 
ways does.  The  sun  was  setting,  throwing  his 
light  upon  that  grassy  bank  and  playing  in  the 
branches  of  the  great  oaks  and  beeches.  Dolly 
stood  quite  still,  with  her  hands  crossed  upon  her 
bosom,  looking. 

"The  garden  has  had  nothing  done  to  it,"  said 
St.  Leger.  "  That  won't  do.  It's  quite  distressing." 

"  I  suppose  father  never  thought  of  engaging  a 
gardener,"  said  Dolly. 

"We  have  gardeners  to  spare,  I  am  sure,  at  home. 
I'll  send  over  one,  to  train  those  vines  and  put 
things  in  some  shape.  You'd  find  him  useful,  too, 
about  the  house.  I'll  send  old  Peters;  he  can  come 
as  well  as  not." 

"  0  thank  you !  But  I  don't  know  whether  father 
would  choose  to  afford  a  gardener,"  said  Dolly  low. 

"  He  shall  not  afford  it.     I  want  him  to  come  for 


BRIERLEY  COTTAGE.  145 

my  own  comfort.     You  do  not  think  I  want  your 
father  to  pay  my  gardener  ?  " 

"  You  are  very  kind.  What  ground  is  that  over 
there  ?  " 

"That?  that  is  Brierley  Park.  It  is  a  great 
place.  The  stream  divides  the  park  from  this 
cottage  ground." 

"  Can  one  go  over  the  bridge  ?  " 

"  Of  course.  The  place  is  left  to  itself;  nobody 
is  at  the  house  now." 

"Why  not?" 

"1  suppose  they  like  some  other  place  better,"  said 
St.  Leger  shrugging  his  shoulders.  "You  would 
like  to  go  and  see  the  house  and  the  pictures.  The 
next  time  I  come  down  I'll  take  you  there." 

"O  thank  you!  And  may  I  go  over  among 
those  grand  trees  ?  may  I  walk  there  ?  " 

"Walk  there  or  ride  there;  you  may  do  what 
you  like;  nobody  will  hinder  you.  If  you  meet 
anybody  that  has  a  right  to  know,  you  can  tell 
him  who  you  are.  But  don't  go  to  the  house  till 
I  come  to  go  with  you." 

"  You  are  very  good,  Mr.  St.  Leger,"  said  Dolly 
gratefully.  But  then,  as  if  shy  of  what  he  might 
next  say,  she  turned  and  went  in  to  her  mother. 
Dolly  always  kept  Mr.  St.  Leger  at  a  certain  fine, 
insensible  distance.  He  seemed  to  be  very  near; 
he  was  really  very  much  at  home  in  the  family; 
nevertheless  an  atmospheric  wall,  felt  but  not  seen, 
divided  him  from  Dolly.  It  was  so  invisible  that 
it  was  unmanageable ;  it  kept  him  at  a  distance. 
10 


CHAPTER    XL 

IN  THE  PARK. 

THE  next  day  was  a  delightful  one  in  Dolly's 
experience.  Mr.  St.  Leger  went  back  to  town 
early  in  the  morning;  and  as  soon  as  she  was  free 
of  him  Dolly's  delight  began.  She  attended  to  her 
mother,  and  put  her  in  comfort;  next,  she  examined 
the  house  and  its  capabilities  and  arranged  the  lit- 
tle household;  and  then  she  gave  herself  to  the  gar- 
den. It  was  an  unmitigated  wilderness.  The  roses 
had  grown  into  irregular,  wide-spreading  shrubs, 
with  waving,  flaunting  branches;  yet  sweet  with 
their  burden  of  blushing  flowers.  Lilac  bushes  had 
passed  all  bounds,  and  took  up  room  most  grasping- 
ly.  Hawthorn  and  eglantine,  roses  of  Sharon  and 
stocky  syringas,  and  other  bushes  and  climbers,  had 
entwined  and  confused  their  sprays  and  branches, 
till  in  places  they  formed  an  impenetrable  mass. 
In  other  places,  and  even  in  the  midst  of  this  over- 
grown thicket,  jessamine  stars  peeped  out,  lilies 
and  violets  grew  half  smothered,  mignonette  ran 
along  where  it  could;  even  carnations  and  pinks 
were  to  be  seen,  in  unhappy  situations,  and  daisies 
and  larkspur  and  scarlet  geraniums,  lupins  and 


IN  THE  PARK.    •  147 

sweet  peas,  and  I  know  not  what  more  old-fash- 
ioned flowers,  shewed  their  fair  faces  here  and 
there.  It  was  bewildering,  and  beyond  Dolly's 
powers  to  put  in  order.  She  wished  for  old  Pe- 
ters' arrival;  and  meantime  cut  and  trimmed  a 
little  here  and  there,  gathered  a  nosegay  of  wil- 
dering  blossoms,  considered  what  might  be  done, 
and  lost  herself  in  the  sweet  June  day. 

At  last  it  was  growing  near  lunch  time,  and  she 
went  in.  Mrs.  Copley  was  lying  on  an  old-fash- 
ioned lounge;  and  the  room  where  she  lay  was 
brown  with  old  oak,  quaint  with  its  diamond 
paned  casement  windows,  and  cool  with  a  general 
effect  of  wooden  floor  and  little  furniture;  while 
roses  looked  in  at  the  open  window,  and  the  light 
was  tempered  by  the  dark  panelling  and  low  ceil- 
ing. Dolly  gave  an  exclamation  of  delight. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Copley  fretfully. 

"  Mother,  this  place  is  so  lovely !  and  this  room, 
— do  you  know  how  perfectly  pretty  it  is  ?  " 

"  It  isn't  half  furnished.     Not  half." 

"But  it  is  furnished  enough.  There  are  only 
two  of  us;  and  certainly  here  are  all  the  things 
that  we  want,  and  a  great  deal  more  than  we 
want ;  and  it  is  so  pretty  !  so  pretty !  " 

"  How  long  do  you  suppose  there  are  to  be  only 
two  of  us  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  that,  mother.  Lawrence  St.  Leger 
is  just  gone,  and  I  don't  want  him  back,  for  my 
part.  In  fact,  I  don't  believe  we  have  dinner 
enough  for  three." 


148  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  That's  another  thing.  Where  are  we  going  to 
get  anything  to  eat  ?  " 

"Lunch  will  be  ready  in  a  minute,  mother." 

"  What  have  we  got  ?  " 

"  What  you  like.     Frizzled  beef  and  chocolate." 

"  I  like  it, — but  I  don't  suppose  it  is  very  nour- 
ishing. Where  are  we  to  get  what  we  want,  Dol- 
ly? how  are  we  to  get  bread,  and  butter,  and 
marketing  ?  " 

"  There's  a  village  half  a  mile  off.  And,  here  is 
lunch  on  the  table.  We  shall  not  starve  to-day." 

Mrs.  Copley  liked  her  chocolate  and  found  the 
bread  good.  Nevertheless  she  presently  began 
again. 

"Are  we  to  live  here  alone  the  rest  of  our 
lives,  Dolly?  or  what  do  you  suppose  your  fa- 
ther's idea  is?  It's  a  very  lonesome  place,  seems 
to  me." 

"  Why,  mother,  we  came  here  to  get  you  well ; 
and  it's  enough  to  make  anybody  well.  It  is  the 
loveliest  place  I  have  ever  seen,  I  think.  Mr.  St. 
Leger's  grand  establishment  is  nothing  to  it." 

"And  what  do  you  mean  by  what  you  said  about 
Lawrence  St.  Leger  ?  Are  you  glad  to  have  even 
him  go  away  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mother,  a  little  bit.  He  was  rather  in  my 
way." 

"  In  your  way !  that's  very  ungrateful.  How 
was  he  in  your  way  ?  " 

"Somebody  to  attend  to,  and  somebody  to  at- 
tend to  me.  I  like  to  be  let  alone.  By  and  by, 


IN  THE  PARK.  149 

when  you  are  sleeping,  I  shall  go  over  and  explore 
the  park." 

"  What  I  don't  understand,"  said  Mrs.  Copley,  re- 
curring to  her  former  theme,  "  is,  why,  if  he  wanted 
me  to  be  in  the  country,  your  father  did  not  take 
a  nice  house  somewhere  just  a  little  way  out  of 
London, — there  are  plenty  of  such  places, — and 
have  things  handsome ;  so  that  he  could  entertain 
company,  and  we  could  see  somebody.  We  can 
have  nobody  here.  It  looks  really  quite  like  poor 
people." 

"  That  isn't  a  very  bad  way  to  look,"  said  Dolly 
calmly. 

"Not?  Like  poor  people?"  cried  Mrs.  Copley. 
"Dolly,  don't  talk  folly.  Nobody  likes  that  look, 
and  you  don't,  either." 

"  I  am  not  particularly  afraid  of  it.  But  mother, 
we  do  not  want  to  entertain  company  while  you 
are  not  well,  you  know." 

"  No ;  and  so  here  you  are  shut  up  and  seeing  no 
creature.  I  wish  we  were'  at  home  !  " 

Dolly  did  not  precisely  wish  that;  not  at  least 
till  she  had  had  time  to  examine  this  new  leaf  of 
nature's  book  opened  to  her.  And  yet  she  sighed 
a  response  to  her  mother's  words.  It  was  all  the 
response  she  made. 

She  was  too  tired  with  her  unwonted  gardening 
exertions  to  go  further  exploring  that  afternoon. 
It  was  not  till  a  day  or  two  later,  when  Dolly  had 
become  somewhat  more  acquainted  with  her  new 
life  and  its  conditions,  that  she  crossed  the  bridge 


150  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

one  fair,  warm  June  evening,  and  set  her  hesita- 
ting steps  upon  what  seemed  to  her  a  wonderful 
piece  of  ground.  She  entered  it  immediately  upon 
crossing  the  bridge.  The  green  glades  of  the  park 
woods  were  before  her;  the  old  giants  of  the  park 
trees  stretched  their  great  arms  over  her  and  shad- 
owed her  footsteps.  Such  mighty  trees !  their  great 
stems  stood  as  if  they  had  been  there  for  ever;  the 
leafy  crown  of  their  heads  was  more  majestic  than 
any  king's  diadem,  and  gave  its  protecting  shelter, 
each  of  them,  to  a  wide  domain  of  earth's  minor 
growths.  Underneath  their  branches  the  turf  was 
all  green  and  gold,  for  the  slant  sun  rays  came  in 
there;  and  gold  was  in  the  tree  tops,  some  of  the 
same  gold;  and  the  green  shadows  and  the  golden 
bands  and  flecks  of  light  were  all  still.  There  was 
no  stir  of  air  that  evening.  Silence,  the  stillness 
and  solitude  of  a  woodland,  were  all  around;  the 
only  house  visible  from  here  was  the  cottage  Dolly 
had  just  quitted,  with  its  rose-covered  porch. 

Dolly  went  a  little  way,  and  stood  still  to  look 
and  listen;  then  went  on  a  few  steps  more.  The 
scene  had  a  sort  of  regal  beauty,  not  like  anything 
she  had  ever  known  in  her  life  before,  and  belong- 
ing to  something  her  life  had  never  touched.  For 
this  was  not  a  primeval  forest;  it  was  not  forest 
at  all;  it  was  a  lordly  pleasure  ground.  A  "pleas- 
aunee,"  for  somebody's  delight ;  kept  so.  There  was 
no  ragged  underbrush;  there  were  no  wildering 
bushes  and  briars;  the  green  turf  swept  away  out 
of  sight  under  the  great  old  trees  clean  and  soft ; 


IN  THE  PARK.  151 

and  they,  the  oaks  and  beeches,  stretching  their 
arms  abroad  and  standing  in  still  beauty  and  maj- 
esty, seemed  to  say, — ''Yes,  we  belong  to  the  Fam- 
ily; we  have  stood  by  it  for  ages."  Dolly  could  see 
no  dead  trees,  nor  fallen  lumber  of  dry  branches; 
the  place  was  dressed,  yet  unadorned,  except  by 
its  own  magnificent  features;  so  most  simple,  most 
lordly.  The  first  impression  almost  took  away 
Dolly's  breath.  She  again  went  on,  and  again 
stood  still,  then  went  further;  at  last  could  go  no 
further,  and  she  sat  down  011  the  bank  under  the 
shadow  of  a  great  oak  tree  which  had  certainly 
seen  centuries,  and  gave  herself  up  to  the  scene 
and  her  thoughts.  They  did  not  fit,  somehow,  and 
took  possession  of  her  alternately.  Sometimes  her 
eyes  filled  with  glad  tears,  at  the  wonderful  loveli- 
ness and  stateliness  of  nature  around  her;  the  sense 
of  beauty  overcame  all  other  feelings;  filling  and 
satisfying,  and  also  concealing  a  certain  promise. 
It  was  certainly  the  will  of  the  Creator  that  all 
things  should  be  thus  perfect,  harmonious,  and  fair. 
What  was  not,  could  be  made  so.  But  then  again 
a  shadow  would  come  over  this  sunshine,  as  Dolly 
remembered  the  anxieties  she  had  brought  from 
home  with  her.  She  had  meant  to  let  herself  look 
at  them  here,  in  solitude  and  quiet ;  could  she  do  it, 
now  she  was  here  ?  But  when  if  not  now  ?  Grad- 
ually Dolly  gave  herself  up  to  thinking,  and  forgot 
where  she  was,  or  more  correctly,  saw  the  objects 
around  her  only  through  a  veil  of  her  own  thoughts. 
She  had  several  anxieties;  she  was  obliged  to 


152  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

confess  it  to  herself  unwillingly;  for  indeed  anx- 
iety was  so  new  to  Dolly  that  she  had  hardly  en- 
tertained it  in  all  her  life  before ;  and  when  it  had 
knocked  at  her  door,  she  had  answered,  that  it 
came  to  the  wrong  place.  However,  she  could  not 
but  hear  and  heed  the  knock  now ;  and  she  wanted 
to  consider  the  matter  calmly  and  see  whether  the 
unwelcome  visiter  must  be  really  taken  in,  and 
lodged. 

It  was  not  her  mother's  condition.  With  the 
buoyancy  of  youth,  and  the  inexperience,  Dolly 
expected  that  Mrs.  Copley  would  soon  get  well. 
Her  trouble  was  about  her  father;  and  the  worst 
thing  about  her  mother's  state  of  nervous  weak- 
ness was,  that  she  could  not  talk  to  her  on  the  sub- 
ject or  get  her  help  and  cooperation.  That  is,  if 
anything  were  to  be  attempted  to  be  done  in  the 
matter.  That  was  another  question  she  wanted  to 
consider. 

In  the  first  place,  she  could  not  help  seeing  one 
thing;  that  Mr.  Copley  was  not  flush  with  money 
as  he  used  to  be ;  as  he  had  always  been,  ever  since 
Dolly  could  remember.  It  was  wholly  unlike  him, 
to  send  her  and  her  mother  down  to  this  cottage 
with  a  household  of  two  women  servants;  barely 
enough  for  the  work  that  was  indispensably  neces- 
sary. Evidently,  Mr.  Copley  entertained  no  idea 
of  shewing  hospitality  here  in  the  country,  and 
Dolly  thought  he  had  been  secretly  glad  to  be  re- 
lieved of  the  necessity  of  doing  it  in  town.  Very 
unlike  him.  It  was  unlike  him,  too,  to  content  his 


IN  THE  PARK.  153 

pride  with  so  meagre  an  establishment.  Mr.  Cop- 
ley loved  to  handle  money,  always  spent  it  with  a 
lavish  carelessness,  and  was  rather  fond  of  display. 
What  had  made  this  change  ?  Dolly  had  felt  the 
change  in  still  other  and  lesser  things.  Money  had 
not  been  immediately  forthcoming  when  she  asked 
for  it  lately  to  pay  her  rnantua  maker's  bill;  and 
she  had  noticed  on  several  occasions  that  her  father 
had  taken  a  'bus  instead  of  a  hansom,  or  even  had 
chosen  to  walk.  A  dull  doubt  had  been  creeping 
over  her,  which  now  was  no  longer  obscure,  but 
plainly  enough  revealed ;  her  father  had  lost  money. 
How,  and  where  ? 

Impossible  to  answer  this  question.  But  at  the 
same  time  there  floated  before  Dolly's  mind  two 
vague  images;  Newmarket  and  betting, — and  a 
green  whist  table  at  Mr.  St.  Leger's,  with  eager 
busy  players  seated  round  it.  True,  Newmarket 
races  came  but  once  a  year;  and  true,  she  had  al- 
ways heard  that  whist  was  a  very  gentlemanly 
game  and  much  money  never  lost  at  it.  She  re- 
peated those  facts  to  herself,  over  and  over.  Yet 
the  images  remained ;  they  came  before  her  again 
and  again;  her  father  betting  eagerly  in  the  crowd 
of  betters  on  the  race  course,  and  the  same  beloved 
figure  handling  the  cards  opposite  to  his  friend  the 
banker,  at  the  hospitable  mansion  of  the  latter. 
Who  should  be  her  guaranty,  that  a  taste  once 
formed,  though  so  respectably,  might  not  be  in- 
dulged in  other  ways  and  companies  not  so  irre- 
proachable? The  more  Dolly  allowed  herself  to 


154  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

think  of  it,  the  more  the  pain  at  her  heart  bit  her. 
And  another  fear  came  to  help  the  former,  its  fit 
and  appropriate  congener.  With  the  image  of  Mr. 
St.  Leger  and  his  cards  rose  up  also  the  memory 
of  Mr.  St.  Leger's  decanters;  and  Dolly  lowered 
her  head  once  in  a  convulsion  of  fear.  She  found 
she  could  not  bear  the  course  of  her  thought;  it 
must  be  interrupted;  and  she  sprang  up  and  hur- 
ried on  up  the  bank  under  the  great  trees,  telling 
herself  that  it  was  impossible;  that  anything  so 
terrible  could  not  happen  to  her;  it  was  not  to  be 
even  so  much  as  thought  of.  She  cast  it  away 
from  her,  and  resolved  that  it  could  not  be.  As  to 
the  rest,  she  thought,  poverty  is  not  disgrace;  she 
would  not  break  her  heart  about  that  till  she  knew 
there,  was  more  reason. 

So  with  flying  foot  she  hastened  forward,  will- 
ing to  put  a  forcible  stop  to  thought  by  her  quick 
motion  and  the  new  succession  of  objects  before 
her  eyes.  Yet  they  were  not  very  new  for  a  while. 
The  ground  became  level  and  the  going  grew 
easier ;  otherwise  it  was  the  same  lovely  park 
ground,  the  same  wilderness  of  noble  trees,  a  re- 
newal of  the  same  woodland  views.  Lovely  green 
alleys  or  glades  opened  to  right  and  left,  bidding 
her  to  enter  them;  then  as  she  went  on  the  trees 
stood  thicker  again.  The  sun  getting  more  low 
sent  his  beams  more  slant,  gilding  the  sides  of  the 
great  trunks,  tipping  the  ends  of  branches  with 
leafy  glitter,  laying  lovely  lines  of  light  over  the 
turf.  Dolly  wandered  on  and  on,  allured  by  the 


IN  THE  PARK.  155 

continual  change  and  variety  of  lovely  combina- 
tion in  which  grass,  trees,  and  sunlight  played  be- 
fore her  eyes.  But  after  a  while  the  beauty  took  a 
different  cast.  The  old  oaks  and  beeches  ceased; 
she  found  herself  among  a  lighter  growth,  of  much 
younger  trees,  some  of  them  very  ornamental,  and 
in  the  great  diversity  of  kinds  shewing  that  they 
were  a  modern  plantation.  What  a  plantation  it 
was !  for  Dolly  could  not  seem  to  get  to  the  end 
of  it.  She  went  fast;  the  afternoon  was  passing, 
and  she  was  curious  to  see  what  would  succeed  to 
this  young  wood;  though  it  is  hardly  right  to  call 
it  a  wood ;  the  trees  were  not  close  to  each  other, 
but  stood  apart  to  give  every  one  a  fair  chance 
for  developing  its  own  peculiar  manner  of  growth. 
Some  had  reached  a  height  and  breadth  of  beauty 
already;  some  could  be  only  beautiful  at  every 
stage  of  growth;  very  many  of  them  were  quite 
strange  to  Dolly;  they  were  foreign  trees,  gath- 
ered from  many  quarters.  She  went  on,  until  she 
began  to  think  she  must  give  it  up  and  turn  back; 
she  was  by  this  time  far  from  home;  but  just  then 
she  saw  that  the  plantation  was  coming  to  an 
end  on  that  side;  light  was  breaking  through  the 
branches.  She  pressed  forward  eagerly  a  few  steps ; 
and  on  a  sudden  stood  still,  almost  with  a  cry  of 
delight.  The  plantation  did  end  there  abruptly, 
and  at  the  edge  of  it  began  a  great  stretch  of  level 
green,  just  spotted  here  and  there  with  magnificent 
trees,  singly  or  in  groups.  And  at  the  further  edge 
of  this  green  plain,  dressed,  not  hidden,  by  these 


156  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

intervening  trees,  rose  a  most  beautiful  building. 
It  seemed  to  Dolly  like  a  castle  in  a  fairy  tale,  so 
bewitchingly  lovely  and  stately  it  stood  there,  with 
the  evening  sunlight  playing  upon  its  turrets  and 
battlements,  and  all  that  grand  sweep  of  lawn, 
lying  at  its  feet.  This  must  be  the  "house"  of 
which  Lawrence  had  spoken;  but  surely  it  was 
rather  a  castle.  The  style  was  Gothic;  the  build- 
ing stretched  along  the  ground  to  a  lordly  extent 
for  a  "house,"  and  yet  in  the  light  grace  and  adorn- 
ment of  its  structure  it  hardly  looked  like  anything 
so  grim  as  a  castle.  The  stillness  was  utter;  some 
cattle  under  the  trees  on  the  lawn  were  the  only 
living  things  to  be  seen. 

Dolly  could  not  satisfy  herself  with  looking. 
This  w*as  something  that  she  had  read  about  and 
heard  about;  a  real  English  baronial  residence. 
But  was  it  reality?  it  was  so  graceful,  so  noble, 
so  wonderful.  She  must  go  a  little  nearer.  Yet 
it  was  a  good  while  before  she  could  make  up 
her  mind  to  leave  the  spot  where  this  exquisite 
view  had  first  opened  to  her.  She  advanced  then 
upon  the  lawn,  going  towards  the  house  and 
scarce  taking  her  eyes  from  it.  There  were  no 
paths  cut  anywhere ;  it  was  no  loss,  for  the  green- 
sward here  was  the  perfection  of  English  turf; 
soft  and  fine  and  thick  and  even.  It  was  a  pleas- 
ure to  step  on  it;  and  Dolly  stepped  along,  in  a 
maze,  caught  in  the  meshes  of  the  beauty  around 
her  and  giving  herself  up  to  it  in  willing  captivity. 
But  the  lawn  was  enormously  wider  than  she  had 


IN  THE  PARK.  157 

supposed;  her  eye  had  not  been  able  to  measure 
distances  on  this  green  level;  she  had  walked 
already  a  long  way  by  the  time  she  had  got  one 
third  of  its  breadth  behind  her.  Still,  Dolly  did  not 
much  consider  that;  her  eye  was  fixed  on  the 
house  as  she  now  drew  nearer  to  it,  busied  in 
picking  out  the  details;  and  she  only  now  and 
then  cast  a  glance  to  right  or  left  of  her,  and 
never  looked  back.  It  did  occur  to  her  at  last 
that  she  herself  was  like  a  mere  little  speck  cast 
away  in  this  ocean  of  green,  toiling  over  it  like 
an  ant  over  a  floor;  and  she  hurried  her  steps, 
though  she  was  beginning  to  be  tired.  Slowly, 
slowly  she  went;  half  of  the  breadth  of  lawn 
was  behind  her,  and  then  three  quarters;  and 
the  building  was  unfolding  at  least  its  external 
organisation  to  her  curious  eyes  and  displaying 
some  of  its  fine  memberment  and  broken  sur- 
face and  the  resulting  lights  and  shadows.  Dolly 
almost  forgot  her  toil,  wondering  and  delighted; 
though  beginning  also  to  question  dimly  with 
herself  how  she  was  ever  to  find  her  way  home  ? 
Go  back  over  all  that  ground  she  could  not,  she 
knew ;  as  little  could  she  have  told  where  was  the 
point  at  the  edge  of  the  lawn  by  which  she  had 
entered  upon  it.  That  way  she  could  not  go;  she 
had  a  notion  that  at  the  house  or  near  it  she 
might  find  somebody  to  speak  to  from  whom 
she  could  get  directions  as  to  some  other  way. 
So  she  pressed  on,  feeding  her  eyes  as  she  ap- 
proached it  upon  the  details  of  the  house. 


158  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

When  now  more  than  three  fourths  of  the  lawn 
ground  was  passed,  one  of  Dolly's  side  glances, 
intended  to  catch  the  beauty  of  the  trees  on  the 
lawn  in  their  evening  illumination,  revealed  to 
her  a  disagreeable  fact.  That,  namely,  she  was 
looked  upon  as  an  intruder  by  some  of  the  cat- 
tle; and  that  in  especial  a  young  bull  was  re- 
garding her  with  serious  and  ominous  bearing 
and  even  advancing  slowly  towards  her  from  the 
group  of  his  companions.  It  seemed  to  Dolly 
not  desirable  to  stand  the  question,  and  she  set 
off  to  run.  Which  proceeding  of  course  confirmed 
the  young  bull's  suspicions,  whatever  they  were, 
and  he  followed  on  a  run  also.  Dolly  became 
aware  of  this,  and  now  with  all  the  strength  of. 
muscle  that  remained  to  her  fled  towards  the 
house;  no  longer  seeing  its  Gothic  mouldings  and 
picturesque  lights  and  shadows,  only  trying  very 
hard  to  get  near.  She  thought  perhaps  the  creat- 
ure would  be  shy  of  the  immediate  neighbourhood 
of  the  house,  and  not  choose  to  follow  her  so  far. 
But  just  as  she  reached  that  desirable  vicinity  she 
longed  for,  she  was  met  by  another  danger,  com- 
ing from  the  quarter  from  whence  she  sought 
safety.  An  enormous  stag  hound  dashed  out  from 
his  covert  somewhere  with  an  utterance  from  his 
deep  throat  which  sounded  sufficiently  awful  to 
Dolly,  an  angry  or  a  warning  bay,  and  came 
springing  towards  her.  Dolly  stood  still  dis- 
mayed and  uncertain,  the  dog  before  and  the 
bull  behind;  then,  even  before  the  former  could 


IN  THE  PARK.  159 

reach  her,  a  voice  was  heard  calling  him  off  and 
directing  him  to  the  advancing  bull  In  another 
minute  or  two  a  woman  had  come  over  the  grass 
and  stood  at  Dolly's  side.  Dolly  was  on  her  feet 
no  longer;  with  the  first  breath  of  respite  she  had 
sunk  down  on  the  grass;  nerves  and  muscles  all 
trembling  with  the  exertion  and  with  the  fright. 

The  woman  came  up  with  a  business  air;  then 
as  she  stood  beside  Dolly  her  look  changed.  This 
was  no  common  intruder,  she  saw;  this  delicate- 
featured  girl;  and  her  dress  too,  simple  as  it  was, 
was  the  dress  of  a  lady.  Dolly  on  her  part  looked 
up  to  a  face  not  delicate-featured;  far  from  it; 
solid  and  sti-ong  built,  as  was  the  person  to  which 
it  belonged;  sense  and  capacity  and  kindliness, 
however,  were  legible  even  at  that  first  glance. 

"You've  been  rayther  badly  frightened,  mum, 
I'm  afraid,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  which  precisely 
matched  the  face;  strong  and  somewhat  harsh, 
but  kindly  in  accent. 

"  Very,"  said  Dolly,  whose  face  began  to  dimple 
now.  "  I  am  so  much  obliged  to  you !  " 

"Not  in  the  vary  least,  mum.  But  you  are 
worried  with  the  fright,  I  fear?" 

"No;  I'll  get  up,"  said  Dolly;  "I'm  only  tired. 
I  believe  I'm  a  little  weak  too.  I  haven't  quite 
got  over  trembling,  I  find." 

"You  haven't  your  colour  yet  again,  mum. 
Would  you  come  into  my  room  and  rest  a  bit  ? " 

"  0  thank  you.  You  are  very  kind !  "  said  Dolly 
with  sincere  delight  at  this  proposition.  For  now 


160  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

she  was  upon  her  feet  she  felt  that  her  knees  trem- 
bled under  her,  and  her  footsteps  were  unsteady 
as  she  followed  the  woman  over  the  grass.  They 
went  towards  a  small  door  in  the  long  line  of  the 
building,  the  stag  hound  coming  back  from  his 
chase  and  attending  them  gravely.  The  woman 
opened  the  door,  led  Dolly  through  a  passage  or 
two,  and  ushered  her  into  a  cosy  little  sitting 
room,  neat  as  wax,  nicely  though  plainly  fur- 
nished. Here  she  begged  Dolly  to  rest  herself 
on  the  sofa;  and  while  Dolly  did  so  she  stood 
considering  her  with  a  kindly  anxious  face. 

"I'm  all  right  now,"  said  Dolly  smiling. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  mum,  but  you're  growing 
paler  every  minute.  If  you'll  allow  me,  mum,  I 
will  fetch  you  a  glass  of  wine." 

"  Wine  ?  0  no,"  said  Dolly.  "  I  don't  want  any 
wine.  I  do  not  drink  wine.  I  am  just  tired.  If 
you'll  let  me  rest  here  a  few  minutes — " 

"  Lie  still,  mum,  and  don't  talk." 

She  left  the  room,  and  Dolly  lay  still,  with  shut 
eyes,  feeling  very  much  exhausted.  It  was  inex- 
pressibly good  to  be  under  shelter  and  on  her 
back;  how  she  was  to  get  home  she  could  not  yet 
consider.  Before  that  question  fairly  came  up,  her 
entertainer  was  back  again;  but  Dolly  kept  her 
eyes  shut  If  she  opened  them,  perhaps  she  would 
have  to  talk ;-  and  she  wanted  nothing  on  earth  at 
that  moment  but  to  be  still 

After  a  little  interval,  however,  she  heard  the 
door  open  and  a  second  person  enter;  and  curi- 


IN  THE  PARK.  161 

osity  brought  her  eyes  open  then.  The  second 
person  was  a  maid  servant  with  a  tray.  The  tray 
was  set  upon  a  table,  and  Dolly  heard  the  other 
woman  say, 

"  You'll  bring  the  tea,  Kitty,  when  I  ring." 

Dolly  took  this  as  a  signal  that  she  must  go;  of 
course  she  was  in  the  way;  yet  rest  felt  so  very 
comfortable  that  for  a  moment  she  still  lay  where 
she  was;  and  lying  there,  she  gave  her  hostess  a 
more  critical  examination  than  she  had  hitherto 
bestowed  on  her.  Who  could  she  be?  She  was 
very  well,  that  is,  very  respectably,  dressed;  her 
manner  and  bearing  were  those  of  a  person  in  au- 
thority; she  was  at  home;  but  with  gentle  or 
noble  blood  she  could  have  no  connection  unless 
one  of  service.  Her  features  and  her  manner 
proved  that.  Nevertheless,  both  her  face  and 
bearing  had  a  certain  attraction  for  Dolly ;  a  cer- 
tain quiet  and  poise,  an  expression  of  acute  in- 
telligence and  efficient  activity,  flavoured  with 
good  will,  which  was  all  very  pleasant  to  see. 
Evidently  she  was  not  a  person  to  be  imposed 
upon.  Dolly  raised  herself  up  at  last  to  a  sitting 
posture,  preparatory  to  going. 

"  Are  you  recovered  enough  to  be  up,  mum  ? " 
her  hostess  asked,  standing  still  to  survey  her  in 
her  turn.  "  I'm  afraid  not." 

"0  thank  you,  yes;  I  must  go  home.  And  I 
must  ask  you  kindly  to  direct  me;  for  I  do  not  in 
the  least  know  the  way." 

"Have  you  come  far,  mum?     I  couldn't  make 


162  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

out  by  what  direction  it  was  or  could  have  been ; 
for  when  I  saw  you  first,  you  seemed  to  be  coming 
right  from  the  middle  of  the  lawn." 

"Not  quite  that;  but  a  little  one  side  of  the  mid- 
dle I  did  cross  the  lawn." 

"I  do  not  know,  mum,  anybody  that  lives  in 
that  direction,  nor  any  village." 

"  Brierley  Cottage  ?  You  know  Brierley  Cot- 
tage?" 

"I  ask  your  pardon,  mum;  I  thought  that  was 
standing  empty  for  months." 

"It  was,  I  suppose.  We  have  just  moved  in. 
My  mother  wants  country  air,  and  Mr.  St.  Leger 
has  let  us  the  cottage.  My  mother  and  I  are  liv- 
ing there,  and  we  came  only  a  day  or  two  ago.  I 
wanted  to  see  the  beaiitiful  ground  and  trees  on 
this  side  the  brook,  and  came  over  the  bridge.  I 
did  not  mean  to  have  come  so  far;  I  had  no  notion 
of  seeing  the  house  or  getting  near  it;  but  every- 
thing was  so  beautiful,  I  was  drawn  on  from  one 
point  to  another,  till  I  found  myself  at  the  edge  of 
the  lawn.  And  then  I  saw  the  cattle,  but  I  never 
thought  of  them." 

"  Why,  mum,"  said  the  woman  looking  sur- 
prised, "you  must  have  walked  a  good  bit.  You 
must  have  come  all  through  the  plantations." 

"  I  should  not  have  minded  the  walk  so  much, 
if  I  had  not  had  the  fright  at  the  end  of  it.  But 
now  the  thing  is,  to  get  home.  Can  you  tell  me 
which  way?  for  I  am  completely  out  of  my 
reckoning." 


IN  THE  PARK.  163 

"You  will  take  a  cup  of  tea  first,  mum,"  said 
the  woman,  ringing  the  bell.  "  I  had  it  made  on 
purpose  for  you.  I  am  sure  you'll  be  the  better  for 
it.  I  am  the  housekeeper  here,  mum,  and  my 
name  is  Jersey." 

"The  housekeeper?"  said  Dolly.  "I  thought 
the  family  were  abroad." 

"  So  they  are,  mum ;  and  to  be  sure  that  makes 
me  less  to  do;  but  enough  still,  to  take  care  of  the 
place.  Put  the  table  up  by  the  sofa,  Kitty." 

The  girl  had  brought  in  the  tea  pot,  and  Dolly 
saw  some  magnificent  strawberries  on  the  board. 
The  table  was  shoved  up,  a  cup  of  tea  poured  out, 
and  Mrs.  Jersey  cut  bread  and  butter. 

"  How  kind  you  are !  "  Dolly  cried.  "  You  are 
taking  a  great  deal  of  trouble  for  me;  a  stranger." 

"Is  it  for  somebody  that  loves  my  Master?"  said 
Mrs.  Jersey,  looking  at  her  with  keen  eyes. 

Dolly's  face  dimpled  all  up  at  this,  which  would 
have  completed  her  conquest  of  Mrs.  Jersey's 
heart,  if  there  had  been  by  this  time  any  ground 
in  that  region  not  already  subjected. 

"  Your  Master  ?  "  she  said.     "  You  mean —  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mum,  I  mean  that.  My  Master  is  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ;  no  other.  One  cannot  have 
two  masters;  and  I  serve  Lord  Brierley  only  under 
Him." 

"And  what  made  you  think — how  did  you  know 
— that  I  am  his  servant  too  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,  mum,"  said  the  housekeeper 
smiling.  "  I  guessed  it  when  I  saw  you  sitting 


164  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

on  the  grass  there.  It  seems  to  me,  if  the  Lord 
don't  just  yet  write  his  name  in  their  foreheads, 
he  does  put  a  letter  or  two  of  it  there,  so  one 
can  tell." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  find  I  have  a  friend  in  the 
neighbourhood,"  said  Dolly.  "I  am  Dolly  Copley; 
my  father  is  American  consul  at  London,  and  a 
friend  of  Mr.  St.  Leger." 

"I  know  Mr.  St.  Leger,  mum;  by  name,  that  is." 

By  this  time  Dolly's  tea  was  poured  out.  The 
housekeeper  served  her  and  watched  her  as  she 
drank  it  and  eat  her  strawberries,  both  of  which 
were  refreshing  to  Dolly. 

"  I  think,  mum,  if  you'll  allow  me  to  say  it,  you 
should  not  try  your  strength  with  quite  such  long 
walks." 

"  I  did  no,t  mean  it.  I  was  drawn  on;  and  when 
I  got  a  sight  of  the  house  from  the  other  side  of 
the  lawn,  I  wanted  to  look  at  it  nearer.  I  had  no 
notion  the  distance  was  so  much." 

"Ay,  mum,  it's  a  good  bit  across  the  lawn. 
Mebbe  you'd  like  to  come  another  day  and  see 
the  house  inside.  I  would  shew  it  to  you  with 
pleasure." 

"0  may  I?"  said  Dolly.  "I  should  like  it;  0 
very  much !  But  you  are  extremely  kind,  Mrs. 
Jersey !  " 

"  It  is  only  what  I  do  for  a  great  many  indiffer- 
ent people,  mum.  I  would  think  it  a  privilege  to 
do  it  for  you.  My  lord  and  lady  being  away,  I 
have  plenty  of  time  on  my  hands." 


IN  THE  PARK.  165 

"  I  wonder  anybody  can  stay  away  from  so  beau- 
tiful a  home." 

"They  have  no  choice,  mum;  at  least  so  the 
doctors  say.  Lady  Brierley  is  delicate,  and  the 
air  of  England  does  not  agree  with  her." 

"And  she  must  be  banished  from  her  own 
home ! "  said  Dolly,  looking  out  into  the  lovely 
landscape  visible  from  the  window.  "How  sad 
that  is!" 

"There's  only  one  home  one  can  always  keep, 
mum,"  said  the  housekeeper,  watching  her. 

"  Heaven,  you  mean  ?  " 

"We  are  not  in  heaven  yet.  I  meant  what 
David  says ;  '  Lord,  thou  hast  been  our  dwelling 
place  in  all  generations.' " 

"  I  am  not  sure  I  understand  it." 

"  Only  love  does  understand  it,  mum." 

"  How  do  you  mean,  please  ?  " 

"  Mum,  it  is  only  love  that  can  live  in  the  life 
of  another;  and  when  that  other  is  God,  one  lives 
in  a  secure  and  wealthy  abode.  Arid  then  it  does 
not  much  matter  where  one's  body  is.  At  least,  so 
I  find  it." 

Dolly  looked  very  thoughtful  for  a  minute ;  then 
she  rose  up. 

"I  am  coming  again,"  she  said;  "I  am  coming 
very  soon,  Mrs.  Jersey.  Now,  will  you  tell  me  how 
I  can  get  home  ?  I  miist  be  as  quick  as  I  can." 

"  That  is  provided  for,  mum,"  said  Mrs.  Jersey. 
"  It's  a  longish  way  round  by  the  road,  further  than 
even  you  came  this  afternoon;  and  you're  not  fit 


166  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

for  it.  Far  from  it,  I  should  say.  I  have  ordered 
the  dog  cart  to  take  you  home;  and  it's  ready." 

"How  could  you  be  so  kind  to  a  stranger?" 
said  Dolly,  giving  her  hand.  But  the  housekeep- 
er smiled. 

"You're  no  stranger  to  me,  mum,"  she  said 
clasping  the  hand  Dolly  had  given.  "  It  is  true, 
I  never  saw  you  before.  But  whenever  I  see  one 
of  my  Lord's  children,  I  say  to  myself,  'Jersey, 
there  is  another  of  the  family,  and  the  Lord  ex- 
pects you  to  do  what  you  can  for  him ;  or  for  her, 
as  the  case  may  be.' " 

Dolly  laughed  and  ran  away.  The  adventure 
was  taking  beautiful  shape.  Here  she  was  to  have 
a  charming  drive  -home,  to  end  the  day;  a  drive 
through  the  pretty  country  lanes.  And  they  were 
charming,  in  the  evening  light.  And  the  dog  cart 
did  not  bring  her  to  Brierley  Cottage  a  bit  too 
soon;  for  Mrs.  Copley  was  already  fidgeting  about 
her. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

THE    HOUSE. 

DOLLY  did  not  tell  all  her  experiences  of  that 
afternoon.  She  .told  only  so  much  as  might 
serve  to  quiet  and  amuse  her  mother;  for  Mrs. 
Copley  took  all  occasions  of  trouble  that  came  in 
her  way  and  invented  a  few  more.  Mrs.  Jersey 
had  sent  along  in  the  dog  cart  a  basket  of  straw- 
berries for  the  sick  lady ;  so  Dolly  hoped  her  moth- 
er's impressions  of  this  day  at  least  would  be 
favourable. 

"Did  you  ever  see  such  magnificent  berries, 
mother?  black  and  red?" 

"  Why  haven't  we  berries  in  our  garden  ?  "  Mrs. 
Copley  returned. 

"Mother,  you  know  the  garden  has  not  been 
kept  up;  nobody  has  been  living  here  lately." 

"  Then  why  did  not  your  father  get  some  other 
house,  where  the  garden  had  been  kept  up  and  we 
could  have  our  own  fruit  and  vegetables?  I  think, 
to  be  in  the  country  and  not  have  one's  own  gar- 
den and  fresh  things,  is  forlorn." 

"There  is  one  thing,  mother;  there  are  plenty 
of  markets  in  this  country." 

"And  plenty  of  high  prices  for  everything  in 


168  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

them.  Yes,  if  you  have  no  end  to  your  purse,  you 
can  buy  things,  certainly.  But  to  look  at  what  is 
around  us  here,  one  would  think 'your  father  didn't 
mean  us  to  have  much  of  anything !  " 

"Mother,  he  means  you  to  have  all  you  want. 
We  thought  you  just  wanted  country  air." 

"  And  nothing  to  eat  ?  " 

"  We  are  not  starving  yet"  said  Dolly  smiling, 
end  arranging  the  strawberries. 

"  These  are  a  gift.  A  gift  I  shouldn't  think  your 
father  would  like  to  take,  or  have  us  take,  which 
comes  to  the  same  thing.  We  used  to  have  enough 
for  ourselves  and  our  neighbours  too,  once,  when 
we  were  at  home,  in  America.  We  are  nobody 
here." 

"We  are  just  ourselves,  mother;  what  we  always 
were.  It  does  not  make  much  difference,  what 
people  think  of  us." 

"  Not  much  difference ! "  cried  Mrs.  Copley. 
"  About  what  people  think  of  you !  And  then, 
what  is  to  become  of  you,  I  should  like  to  know  ? 
Nobody  seeing  you,  and  no  chance  for  anything ! 
I  wonder  if  your  father  means  you  never  to  be 
married  ?  " 

"You  do  not  want  me  married,  mother;  and  not 
to  an  Englishman  anyhow." 

"Why  not?  And  how  are  you  going  to  marry 
anybody  else,  out  here?  Can  you  tell  me?  But, 
O  Dolly,  I  am  tormented  to  death !  " 

"Don't,  dear  mother.  That  is  what  makes  you 
ill.  What  is  the  matter  ?  What  troubles  you  ?  " 


THE  HOUSE.  169 

Mrs.  Copley  did  not  answer  at  once. 

"You  are  as  sweet  as  a  honeysuckle,"  she  said. 
"  And  to  think  that  nobody  should  see  you ! " 

Dolly's  dimples  came  out  here  strong. 

"  Are  you  tormented  to  death  about  that  ?  " 

Another  pause  came,  and  Mrs.  Copley  finally  left 
the  table  with  the  air  of  one  who  is  thinking  what 
she  will  not  speak.  She  went  to  the  honeysuckle 
porch  and  sat  down,  resting  her  head  in  her  hand 
and  surveying  the  landscape.  Twilight  was  fall- 
ing over  it  now,  soft  and  dewy. 

"  I  don't  see  a  sign  of  anything  human,  any- 
where," she  remarked.  "Is  it  because  it  is  so 
dark?" 

"No,  mother;  there  are  no  houses  in  sight." 

"  Nor  from  the  back  windows  ?  " 

"No,  mother." 

"  Where  is  the  village  you  talk  about  ?  " 

"Haifa  mile  away;  the  woods  and  rising  ground 
of  Brierley  Park  hide  it  from  us." 

"  And  in  this  wilderness  your  father  expects  me 
to  get  well !  " 

"  Why  I  think  it  is  charming ! "  Dolly  cried. 
"My  drive  home  to-night  was  perfectly  lovely, 
mother." 

"  I  didn't  have  it." 

"No;  of  course;  but  the  country  is  exceedingly 
pretty." 

"  I  can't  make  your  father  out." 

Dolly  was  hushed  here.  She  was  at  a  loss  like- 
wise on  this  point. 


170  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  He  acts  just  as  if  he  had  lost  his  money." 

Dolly  did  not  know  what  to  say.  She  had  had 
the  same  impression.  To  her  inexperience,  this 
did  not  seem  the  first  of  evils;  but  she  guessed  it 
would  wear  another  face  to  her  mother. 

"  And  if  he  has,"  Mrs.  Copley  went  on,  "  I  am 
sure  I  wish  we  were  at  home.  England  is  no  sort 
of  a  place  for  poor  folks." 

"Why  should  you  think  he  has,  mother? " 

" I  dmt  think  he  has,"  Mrs.  Copley  flamed  out. 
"  But  if  he  hasn't,  I  think  he  has  lost  his  wits." 

"That  would  be  worse,"  said  Dolly,  smiling, 
though  she  felt  anything  but  merry. 

"  I  don't  know  about  that.  Nobody'll  ask  about 
your  wits,  if  you've  got  money ;  and  if  you  haven  t, 
Dolly,  nobody'll  care  what  else  you  have." 

"  Mother,  I  think  it  is  good  to  have  one's  treas- 
ure where  one  cannot  lose  it." 

"I  thought  I  had  that  when  I  married  your 
father,"  said  Mrs.  Copley,  beginning  to  cry.  This 
was  a  very  strange  thing  to  Dolly  and  very  ter- 
rible. Her  mother's  nerves,  if  irritable,  had  al- 
ways been  wont  to  shew  themselves  of  the  sound- 
est. Dolly  saw  it  was  not  all  nerves;  that  she  was 
troubled  by  some  unspoken  cause  of  anxiety ;  and 
she  herself  underwent  nameless  pangs  of  fear  at 
this  corroboration  of  her  own  doubts,  while  she 
was  soothing  and  caressing  and  arguing  her 
mother  into  confidence  again.  The  success  was 
only  partial,  and  both  of  them  earned  careful 
hearts  to  bed. 


THE  HOUSE.  171 

A  day  or  two  more  passed  without  any  varia- 
tion in  the  state  of  things;  except  that  old  Peters 
the  gardener  made  his  appearance,  and  began  to 
reduce  the  wilderness  outside  to  some  order.  Dolly 
spent  a  good  deal  of  time  in  the  garden  with  him ; 
tying  up  rose  trees,  taking  counsel,  even  pulling 
up  weeds  and  setting  plants.  That  was  outside  re- 
freshment; within,  things  were  unchanged.  Mr. 
Copley  wrote  that  he  would  run  down  Saturday, 
or  if  he  could  not,  he  would  send  Lawrence. 
"  Why  shouldn't  he  come  himself?  "  said  Mrs.  Cop- 
ley ;  and  Why  should  he  send  Lawrence  ?  thought 
Dolly.  She  liked  it  better  without  him.  She  was 
pleasing  herself  in  her  garden ;  finding  little  ways 
of  activity  that  delighted  her  in  and  out  of  the 
house;  getting  wonted;  and  she  did  not  care  for 
the  constraint  of  anybody's  presence  who  must  be 
treated  as  company.  One  thing  she  determined 
upon  however;  Lawrence  should  not  make  the 
next  visit  with  her  at  Brierley  House;  and  to 
prevent  it,  she  would  go  at  once  by  herself. 

She  went  that  afternoon,  and  by  an  easier  way 
of  approach  to  the  place.  .Mrs.  Jersey  was  very 
glad  to  see  her,  and  as  soon  as  Dolly  was  rested  a 
little,  entered  upon  the  fulfilment  of  her  promise 
to  shew  the  house.  Accordingly  she  took  her  vis- 
iter  round  to  the  principal  entrance,  in  another 
side  of  the  building  from  the  one  Dolly  had  first 
seen.  Here,  before  she  would  go  in,  she  stood  to 
admire  and  wonder  at  the  rich  and  noble  effect; 
the  beauty  of  turrets,  oriels,  mouldings  and  arched 


172  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

windows;  the  wide  and  lofty  pile  which  stretched 
away  on  two  sides  in  such  lordly  lines.  Mrs. 
Jersey  told  her  who  was  the  first  builder;  who 
had  made  this  and  that  extension  and  addition; 
and  then  they  went  in.  And  the  first  impression 
here  was  a  contrast. 

The  place  was  a  great  hall,  of  grand  proportions. 
There  was  nothing  splendid  here  to  be  seen;  nei- 
ther furniture  nor  workmanship  called  for  admira- 
tion, unless  by  their  simplicity.  There  were  some 
old  paintings  on  the  walls;  there  were  some  fine 
stag's  horns,  very  large  and  very  old;  there  were 
some  heavy  oaken  settles  and  big  chairs,  on  which 
the  family  arms  were  painted;  the  arms  of  the  first 
builder;  and  there  were  also,  what  looked  very  odd 
to  Dolly,  a  number  of  leather  fire  buckets,  painted 
in  like  manner.  Yet  simple  as  the  room  was,  it 
had  a  great  charm  for  her.  It  was  lofty,  calm, 
imposing,  superb.  She  was  not  ready  soon  to  quit 
it;  and  Mrs.  Jersey  of  course  was  willing  to  indulge 
her. 

"  It  is  so  unlike  anything  at  home ! "  Dolly 
exclaimed. 

"  That's  in  America  ? "  said  the  housekeeper. 
"  Have  you  no  old  houses  like  this  there,  mum  ?  " 

"  Why  we  are  not  old  ourselves,"  said  Dolly. 
"When  this  house  was  first  begun  to  be  built, 
our  country  was  full  of  red  Indians." 

"  Is  it  possible !  And  are  there  Indians  there 
yet,  mum  ?  " 

"  No.     0  yes,  in  the  country  there  are ;  but  they 


THE  HOUSE.  173 

are  driven  far  off,  to  the  west;  what  there  are  of 
them. — This  is  very  beautiful !  " 

"  I  never  heard  anybody  call  this  old  hall  beauti- 
ful before,"  said  the  housekeeper  smiling. 

"  It  is  so  large,  and  high,  and  so  simple;  and  these 
old  time  things  make  it  so  respectable,"  said  Dolly. 

"  Respectable !  yes,  mum,  it  is  that.  Shall  we 
go  on  and  see  something  better  ?  " 

But  her  young  visiter  had  fallen  to  studying  the 
ceiling,  which  had  curious  carvings  and  panellings, 
and  paintings  which  once  had  been  bright.  There 
was  such  a  flavour  of  past  ages  in  the  place,  that 
Dolly's  fancy  was  all  alive  and  excited.  Mrs.  Jer- 
sey waited,  watching  her,  smiling  in  a  satisfied 
manner;  and  then  after  a  while,  when  Dolly  would 
let  her,  she  opened  the  door  into  another  apart- 
ment. A  great  door  of  carved  oak  it  was,  through 
which  Dolly  went  expectantly,  and  then  stood  still 
with  a  little  cry.  The  first  thing  she  saw  was 
the  great  windows,  down  to  the  floor,  all  along 
one  side  of  a  large  room,  through  which  a  view 
was  given  into  the  park  landscape.  The  grand 
trees,  the  beautiful  green  turf,  the  sunlight  and 
shadow,  caught  her  eye  for  a  minute ;  and  then  it 
came  back  to  the  view  within  the  windows.  Op- 
posite this  row  of  windows  was  an  enormous  mar- 
ble chimney  piece;  the  family  arms,  which  Dolly 
was  getting  to  know,  blazoned  upon  it  in  brilliant 
colours.  Right  and  left  of  the  fire  place  hung  old 
family  portraits.  But  when  Dolly  turned  next  to 
give  a  look  at  the  side  of  the  hall  from  which  she 


174  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

had  entered,  she  found  that  the  whole  wall  was  of 
a  piece  with  the  great  carved  door;  it  was  filled 
with  carvings,  figures  in  high  relief,  very  richly 
executed.  For  a  long  while  Dolly  studied  these 
figures.  Mrs.  Jersey  could  give  her  little  help  in 
understanding  them,  but  having,  as  she  fancied, 
got  hold  of  a  clue,  Dolly  pursued  it;  admiring  the 
life  and  expression  in  the  figures,  and  the  richly 
carved  accessories.  The  whole  hall  was  a  study  to 
her.  On  the  further  side  went  up  the  staircases 
leading  to  the  next  story.  Between  them  opened 
the  entrance  into  the  dining  hall. 

Further  than  these  three  halls,  Mrs.  Jersey  al- 
most despaired  of  getting  Dolly  that  day.  In  the 
dining  hall  was  a  portrait  of  Queen  Elizabeth ;  and 
before  it  Dolly  sat  down,  and  studied  it. 

"  Did  she  look  like  that  ?  "  she  said  finally. 

"  Surely,  mum,  she  must,"  said  the  housekeeper. 
"  The  picture  is  thought  a  deal  of.  It  was  painted 
by  a  famous  painter,  I've  been  told." 

"  She  was  very  ugly,  then,"  said  Dolly. 

"Handsome  is  that  handsome  does,"  said  the 
housekeeper  smiling;  "and  to  be  sure,  I  never 
could  make  out  that  her  majesty  was  altogether 
handsome  in  her  doings;  though  perhaps  that's  the 
fault  of  my  stupidity." 

"  She  looks  cold,"  said  Dolly.     "  She  looks  cruel." 

"  I'm  afraid,  mum,  by  all  I  have  read  of  her,  she 
was  a  little  of  both." 

"And  how  she  is  dressed! — Who  is  that,  the 
next  to  her?" 


THE  HOUSE.  175 

"  Mary  Stuart,  mum ;  Mary  Queen  of  Scotland ; 
this  lady's  rival." 

"  Rival  ?  "  said  Dolly.  "  No,  I  do  not  think  she 
was;  only  Elizabeth  chose  to  think  her  so.  How 
lovely,  how  lovely !  " 

"  Yes,  mum,  and  by  all  accounts  the  portrait  tells 
truth.  They  say,  so  she  was  to  be  sure." 

"She  looks  so  innocent,  so  sweet,"  said  Dolly, 
fixed  before  the  two  pictures. 

"  Do  you  think  she  wasn't,  mum  ?  " 

"  One  cannot  feel  quite  comfortable  about  her. 
The  story  is  ugly,  Mrs.  Jersey.  But  how  a  woman 
with  that  face  could  do  anything  fearfully  wicked, 
it  is  hard  to  imagine.  Poor  thing." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  I  am  sure,  to  a  person  of 
whom  you  hold  such  a  bad  opinion,"  said  the 
housekeeper,  amused. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  them  both,"  said  Dolly.  "  Life 
wasn't  much  good  to  either  of  them,  I  should 
think." 

"Queen  Elizabeth  had  power,"  said  Mrs.  Jer- 
sey; "and  Queen  Mary  had  admiration,  I  under- 
stand." 

"  Yes,  but  Elizabeth  wanted  the  admiration,  and 
Mary  Stuart  wanted  the  power,"  said  Dolly.  "  Nei- 
ther of  them  got  what  she  wanted." 

"Few  people  do  in  this  world,  my  young  lady." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  " 

"Young  people  generally  think  they  will,"  said 
the  housekeeper; — "and  old  people  know  better." 

"  But  why  should  that  be  ?  " 


176  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"Does  Miss  Dolly  Copley  know  already  what 
she  wants  ?  "  the  housekeeper  asked. 

"No,"  said  Dolly  laughing  out,  "not  at  all.  I 
do  not  know  what  I  want.  I  do  not  think  I  want 
anything  in  particular,  Mrs.  Jersey." 

"Keep  so,  my  dear;  that  is  best." 

"  Why  ?  Because  I  should  be  so  sure  to  be  dis- 
appointed ?  " 

"You  might.  But  it  is  safe  to  let  God  choose 
for  us,  Miss  Copley ;  and  as  soon  as  we  begin  to 
plan,  we  begin  to  work  for  our  plans,  generally ; 
and  if  our  plan  is  not  his  plan, — that  makes  trou- 
ble, you  see,  and  confusion." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Dolly  thoughtfully.  "  Yet  it 
seems  to  me  it  would  be  pleasant  to  have  some  par- 
ticular object  that  one  was  striving  after.  The  days 
go  by,  one  after  another,  one  like  another,  and  seem 
to  accomplish  nothing.  I  should  like  to  have  some 
purpose,  some  end  in  life,  to  be  striving  for  and 
attaining." 

"A  servant  of  Christ  need  never  want  that," 
said  the  housekeeper. 

"  I  have  not  anything  in  special  to  do,"  said  Dol- 
ly looking  at  her. 

"Every  servant  has  something  special  to  do,"  the 
other  answered. 

"I  have  to  take  care  of  mother.  But  that  is 
not  work;  it  is  not  work  for  Christ  at  least,  Mrs. 
Jersey." 

"Dear,  it  may  be.  Everything  you  do,  you  may 
do  for  him;  for  he  has  given  it  to  you  to  do  for 


THE  HOUSE.  177 

him.     That  is,  unless  it  is  something  you  are  choos- 
ing for  yourself." 

Dolly  pondered. 

"  And  if  there  be  nothing  ready  to  hand  that  you 
call  work,  there  is  always  preparation  for  work  to 
be  done,"  Mrs.  Jersey  went  on. 

"  What  sort  ?  " 

"  The  knowledge  of  the  Bible, — and  the  knowl- 
edge of  Christ,  to  seek  and  win.  That  surely." 

"The  knowledge  of  the  Bible?  Mrs.  Jersey,  I 
know  the  Bible  pretty  well." 

"  And  Christ  also  ?  " 

Dolly  mused  again,  with  a  very  grave  face. 

"  I  do  not  quite  know  what  you  mean." 

"Then  there  is  something  to  be  gained  yet." 

"  But, — of  course  I  know  what  •  the  Bible  says 
about  him." 

"  That  is  one  sort*of  knowledge,"  said  the  house- 
keeper; "but  it  is  not  the  knowledge  of  him." 

"  What  then  ?  " 

"  Only  knowing  about  him,  dear." 

"  What  more  can  we  have  ?  " 

"Just  himself,  Miss  Copley;  and  till  you  have 
that,  dear,  you  don't  rightly  know  what  the  Bible 
means." 

"  I  don't  think  I  quite  understand  you." 

"  Suppose  I  told  you  all  I  could  about  my  Lady 
Brierley;  would  that  make  you  know  her  as  I 
know  her  ?  " 

"No,  certainly;  it  would  not   make  me  really 
know  her  at  all." 
12 


178  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"That  is  what  I  was  thinking." 

"  But  for  that  there  must  be  sight,  and  inter- 
course, and  the  power  of  understanding." 

"All  that,  mum,"  said  Mrs.  Jersey  smiling;  "and 
the  more  of  that  power  you  speak  of,  the  more  and 
the  nearer  knowledge  there  will  be." 

"  But,  in  the  case  you  are  speaking  of,  the  knowl- 
edge of  Christ,  sight  is  not  possible." 

"No,  mum,  not  sight  with  the  bodily  eyes.  It 
is  not.  And  if  it  were,  it  mightn't  do.  Did  all 
the  people  know  the  Lord,  that  saw  him  Avith  the 
bodily  eyes  ?  '  Ye  have  neither  known  my  Father 
nor  me,' — he  said  to  the  Jews.  '  Have  I  been  so 
long  time  with  you,  and  yet  hast  thou  not  known 
me,  Philip  ?  ' " 

"  You  are  setting  me  a  regular  puzzle,  Mrs.  Jer- 
sey." 

"I  hope  not,  my  dear.  I  do 'not  mean  it;  and  it 
is  the  last  thing  I  wish." 

"But  without  sight,  how  is  such  knowledge  to 
be  gained  ?  " 

"Do  you  remember,  Miss  Copley,  it  is  written, — 
'The  secret  of  the  Lord  is  Avith  them  that  fear 
him.'  And  Jesus  promised  to  him  that  loves  him 
and  keeps  his  commandments,  '  I  will  manifest 
myself  to  him.'  Doubtless  we  must  seek  the  ful- 
filment of  the  promise  too." 

"How?" 

"The  same  way  as  with  other  things,  mum.  We 
must  ask,  and  expect,  and  use  the  means.  And  no 
doubt  one  must  be  single  eyed  and  true  hearted. 


THE  HOUSE.  179 

But  dear,  there  is  no  knowledge  like  that,  once  get 
it;  and  no  friend  to  be  had,  that  can  equal  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ." 

Dolly  sat  still  and  pondered,  gazing  at  the  two 
portraits. 

"It  is  very  hard  to  think  that  this  world  is  noth- 
ing!" she  said  at  last.  "To  most  people  it  seems 
everything.  Just  look  at  those  two  faces!  How 
they  struggled  and  fought;  and  how  little  good 
their  life  was  to  them,  after  all." 

"Ay,  mum,  and  folks  can  struggle  and  fight  for 
less  things  than  what  divided  them,  and  lose  all 
just  the  same.  So  the  Lord  said.  '  He  that  lov- 
eth  his  life,  shall  lose  it ; '  but  he  said  too,  '  He  that 
loseth  his  life  for  my  sake,  shall  find  it.' " 

"  You  are  talking  riddles  again,  Mrs.  Jersey," 
said  Dolly  laughing.  "  I  thought  I  was  beginning 
to  understand  you;  but  I  do  not  understand  that." 

"No,  dear;  and  surely  it  is  a  hard  saying  to 
many.  But  I'll  give  you  a  key.  Just  you  give 
your  life  to  the  Lord  Jesus,  and  he  will  shew  you 
what  the  losing  it  means,  and  the  gaining  it  too." 

"  Thank  you.     I  will,"  said  Dolly. 

They  went  on  again  after  that,  through  more 
rooms  of  the  house;  but  the  afternoon  did  not 
serve  for  the  whole.  Dolly  must  return  to  her 
mother.  Mrs.  Jersey  sent  her  home  again  in  the 
dog  cart.  The  evening  was  very  bright  and  fair ; 
the  hedge  rows  sweet  with  flowers;  the  light  glit- 
tered on  the  foliage  of  trees  and  copsewood  and 
shrubbery;  the  sky  was  clear  and  calm.  Dolly 


180  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

tasted  and  rejoiced  in  it  all;  and  yet  in  the  very 
midst  of  her  pleasure  an  echo  from  Mrs.  Jersey's 
words  seemed  to  run  through  everything.  It  did 
not  depress,  on  the  contrary  it  excited  Dolly. 
With  all  the  beauty  and  enjoyment  of  this  very 
beautiful  arid  very  enjoyable  world,  there  was 
something  still  better  to  be  sought  and  found; 
somewhat  still  more  beautiful,  far  more  enjoyable ; 
and  the  correlative  fact  that  the  search  and  attain- 
ment were,  or  might  be,  attended  with  some  diffi- 
culty and  requiring  some  effort  or  resolution,  was 
simply  an  additional  stimulus.  Dolly  breathed  the 
air  with  intense  taste  of  it.  Yes,  she  thought,  I 
will  seek  the  knowledge  Mrs.  Jersey  spoke  of. 
That  must  be  better  than  anything  else. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

MONEY. 

"  O  OW  long  you  have  staid,  Dolly ! "  was  Mrs. 

O  Copley's  greeting.  "  I  don't  see  what  is  to 
become  of  me  in  this  lonely  place,  if  you  are  al- 
ways trotting  about.  I  shall  die  !  " 

Dolly  took  this  cold  water  bath  upon  her  pleas- 
ure with  her  usual  sweetness. 

"Dear  mother,  I  did  not  know  I  was  so  long 
away.  -I  will  not  go  again,  if  it  is  bad  for  you." 

"  Of  course  it  is  bad  for  me.  It  is  very  bad  for 
me.  It  is  bad  for  anybody.  I  just  think  and 
think,  till  I  am  ready  to  fly.  What  have  you 
been  doing?" 

"Looking  at  Brierley  House.  So  beautiful  as  it 
is,  mother ! " 

This  made  a  diversion.  Mrs.  Copley  asked  and 
received  a  detailed  account  of  all  Dolly  had  seen. 

"It  don't  sound  as  if  /  should  like  it,"  was  her 
comment.  "  I  should  never  have  those  old  chairs 
and  things  sticking  about." 

"0  mother,  yes,  you  would;  they  are  most  beau- 
tiful, and  so  old-fashioned;  with  the  arms  of  the 
barons  of  Coppleby  carved  on  them." 


182  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"I  shouldn't  want  the  arms  of  the  barons  of 
Coppleby  on  the  chairs  in  my  house,  if  I  was  the 
Earl  of  Brierley." 

"But  they  are  everywhere,  mother;  they  are  cut 
and  painted  over  the  fireplace  in  the  baron's  hall." 

"  I'd  cut  'em  out  then  and  put  up  my  own.  Fire 
buckets  too !  how  ridiculous.  What  ornaments  for 
a  house ! " 

"  I  like  them,"  said  Dolly. 

"  0,  you  like  everything.  But  Dolly,  what  does 
your  father  think  is  to  become  of  us  ?  He  in  Lon- 
don, and  we  here !  Such  a  way  of  living !  " 

"  But  you  wanted  country  air,  mother." 

"I  didn't;  not  in  this  way.  Air  isn't  everything. 
Did  he  say,  if  he  could  not  come  down  Saturday, 
he  would  send  Mr.  St.  Leger  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  see  why  he  should,"  said  Dolly  gaily. 
"We  don't  want  him." 

"  Now  what  do  you  say  that  for,  Dolly  ?  " 

"Just  because  I  don't  want  him,  mother.  Do 
you  ?  " 

"  He's  a  very  good  young  man," 

Dolly  was  silent. 

"And  very  rich." 

Dolly  said  nothing. 

"And  I  am  sure  he  is  very  agreeable." 

Then  as  her  utterances  still  met  no  response, 
Mrs.  Copley  broke  out.  "Dolly,  why  don't  you  say 
something?  I  have  nobody  to  talk  to  but  you,  and 
you  don't  answer  me !  I  might  as  well  talk  to  the 
wall." 


MONEY.  183 

"Mother — I  would  rather  have  father  come  down 
to  see  us.  If  the  choice  lies  between  them,  I  would 
rather  have  father." 

Mrs.  Copley  leaned  her  head  on  her  hand.  "  Dol- 
ly," she  began  again,  "  your  father  acts  exactly  as 
if  he  had  lost  money." 

Dolly  again  did  not  answer.  The  repeated  words 
gave  her  a  very  startled  thrill. 

"  As  if  he  had  lost  a  good  deal  of  money,"  Mrs. 
Copley  went  on.  "  I  can't  get  it  out  of  my  head 
that  he  has." 

"It's  no  use  to  think  about  it,  mother,"  Dolly 
said  as  lightly  as  she  could.  "Don't  you  trouble 
yourself,  at  any  rate." 

"That's  foolish.  How  can  I  help  troubling  my- 
self? And  if  it  was  any  use  to  think  about  it,  to 
be  sure  I  needn't  be  troubled.  Dolly,  it  torments 
me  day  and  night ! "  And  tears  that  were  bitter 
came  into  Mrs.  Copley's  eyes. 

"It  need  not,  dear  mother.  Money  is  not  the 
only  thing  in  the  world;  nor  the  best  thing." 

"And  that's  silly  too,"  returned  her  mother. 
"One's  bread  and  butter  may  not  be  the  best 
thing  in  the  world, — I  am  sure  this  bread  ain't, 
— but  you  can't  live  without  it.  What  can  you  do 
without  money  ?  " 

"I  never  tried,  you  know,"  said  Dolly;  "but  I 
should  think  it  would  be  possible  to  be  happy." 

"  Like  a  child!  "  said  her  mother.  "  Children  al- 
ways think  so.  What's  to  make  you  happy,  when 
the  means  are  gone  ?  No,  Dolly ;  money  is  every- 


184  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

thing,  in  this  world.  Without  it  you  are  of  no 
consequence,  and  you  are  at  everybody's  mercy; 
and  I  can  tell  you  one  thing  besides ; — if  the  wom- 
en could  be  happy  without  money,  the  men  cannot. 
If  you  don't  give  a  man  a  good  breakfast,  he'll  be 
cross  all  day ;  and  if  his  dinner  don't  suit  him,  you'll 
hear  of  it  for  a  week,  and  he'll  go  off  to  the  club 
besides." 

"He  cannot  do  that  without  money,"  said  Dolly, 
trying  to  laugh. 

"  Then  he'll  stay  at  home,  and  torment  you.  I 
tell  you,  Dolly,  life  ain't  worth  having,  if  you 
haven't  got  money.  That  is  why  I  want  you  to 
like —  "  Mrs.  Copley  broke  off  suddenly. 

"  I  should  think  one  might  have  good  breakfasts 
and  dinners,  even  if  one  was  poor,"  said  Dolly. 
"They  say  French  women  do." 

"What  French  women  do  is  neither  here  nor 
there.  I  am  talking  about  you  and  me.  Look  at 
this  bread, — and  see  that  omelette.  I  can  tell  you, 
nothing  on  earth  would  keep  your  father  down  here 
if  he  couldn't  have  something  better  to  eat  than, 
that." 

Dolly  began  to  ponder  the  possibility  of  learning 
the  art  of  cookery. 

"  What  puzzles  me,"  Mrs.  Copley  went  on,  "  is, 
how  he  could  have  lost  money  ?  But  I  am  sure  he 
has.  I  feel  it  in  all  my  bones.  And  he  is  such  a 
clever  man  about  business,  too !  " 

Dolly  tried  with  all  her  might  to  bring  her  moth- 
er off  this  theme.  At  last  she  succeeded;  but  the 


MONEY.  185 

question  lingered  in  her  own  mind  and  gave  it  a 
good  deal  to  do. 

After  a  day  or  two  more,  Mr.  St.  Leger  came  as 
threatened.  Dolly  received  him  alone.  She  was 
in  the  garden,  gathering  roses,  at  the  time  of  his 
arrival.  The  young  man  came  up  to  her,  looking 
very  glad  and  shy  at  once,  while  Dolly  was  neither 
the  one  nor  the  other.  She  was  attending  to  the 
business  she  had  in  hand. 

"  Well,  how  are  you  ?  "  said  her  visiter.  "  How 
is  Mrs.  Copley  ?  Getting  along,  eh  ?  " 

"  When's  father  coming  down,  Mr.  St.  Leger  ?  " 

"To-morrow.  He'll  take  post  horses  and  come 
down  early,  he  said." 

"Sunday  morning?"  cried  Dolly,  and  stopped, 
looking  at  the  young  man. 

"  0  yes.  He'll  come  down  early.  He  couldn't 
get  off  to-night,  he  told  me.  Some  business." 

"What  business?  Anything  he  could  not  put 
off?  What  kept  him,  Mr.  St.  Leger  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  'pon  my  honour.  He'll  be  down 
in  the  morning  though.  What's  the  matter?  Mrs. 
Copley  isn't  worse,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  No,  I  think  not,"  said  Dolly,  going  back  to  her 
rose  pulling,  with  a  hand  that  trembled. 

"May  I  help  you?  What  are  all  these  roses 
for  ?  Why  you've  got  a  lot  of  'em.  How  do  you 
like  Brierley,  Miss  Dolly?  It  likes  you.  I  never 
saw  you  look  better.  How  does  your  mother  fan- 
cy it  ?  " 

"  Mother  has  taken  a  fancy  to  travel.    She  thinks 


186  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

she  would  like  that  better  than  being  still  in  one 
place." 

"Travel!  Where  to?  Where  does  she  want 
to  go  ?  " 

"She  talks  of  Venice.  But  I  do  not  know 
whether  father  could  leave  his  post." 

"  I  should  say  he  couldn't,  without  the  post 
leaving  him.  But,  I  say,  Miss  Dolly !  maybe  Mrs. 
Copley  would  let  me  be  her  travelling  courier, 
instead.  I  should  like  that  famously.  Venice — 
and  we  might  run  down  and  see  Rome.  Hey? 
What  do  you  think  of  it  ?  " 

Dolly  answered  coolly,  inwardly  resolving  she 
would  have  no  more  to  say  about  travelling  be- 
fore Mr.  St.  Leger.  However,  in  the  evening  he 
brought  up  the  subject  himself;  and  Mrs.  Copley 
and  he  went  into  it  eagerly,  and  spent  a  delightful 
evening  over  plans  for  a  possible  journey;  talking 
of  routes,  and  settling  upon  stopping  places.  Dolly 
was  glad  to  see  her  mother  pleased  and  amused, 
even  so ;  but  herself  took  no  sort  of  part  in  the  talk. 
Next  day  Mr.  Copley  in  truth  arrived,  and  was  joy- 
fully received. 

"  Well  how  do  you  do  ? "  said  he  after  the  first 
rejoicings  were  over,  looking  from  his  wife  to  his 
daughter  and  back  again.  It  was  the  third  or 
fourth  time  he  had  asked  the  question.  "  Pretty 
jolly,  eh  ?  Dolly  is.  You  are  not,  my  dear,  seems 
to  me." 

"You  are  not  either,  it  seems  to  me,  Mr.  Cop- 
ley." 


MONEY.  187 

"  I  ?     I  am  well  enough." 

"  You  are  not  'jolly,'  father  ?  "  said  Dolly,  hang- 
ing upon  him. 

"Why  not?  Yes,  I  am.  A  man  can't  be  very 
jolly,  that  has  anything  to  do  in  this  world." 

"  0  father !  I  should  think,  to  have  nothing  to 
do  would  be  what  would  hinder  jolliness." 

"Anything  to  do  but  enjoy,  I  mean.  I  don't 
mean  nothing  to  do.  But  it  ain't  life,  to  live  for 
business." 

"  Then,  if  I  were  you,  I  would  play  a  little,  Mr. 
Copley,"  said  his  wife. 

"So  I  do.  Here  I  am,"  said  he,  with  what  seemed 
to  Dolly  forced  gaiety.  "  Now  how  are  you  going 
to  help  me  play?" 

"  We  help  you"  said  his  wife.  " Why  didn't  you 
come  yesterday  ?  " 

"Business,  my  dear;  as  I  said.  These  are  good 
berries.  Do  they  grow  in  the  garden  ?  " 

"  How  should  strawberries  grow  in  a  garden 
where  nobody  has  been  living?"  said  his  wife. 
"  And  what  is  your  idea  of  play  in  an  out  of  the 
way  place  like  this,  Mr.  Copley  ?  " 

"Well — not  a  catechism,"  said  he,  slowly  put- 
'ting  strawberries  in  his  mouth  one  after  the  other. 
"What's  the  matter  with  the  place?  I  thought, 
it  would  just  suit  you.  Isn't  the  air  good  ?  " 

"Breathing  isn't  quite  the  only  necessary  of  life," 
said  his  wife ;  "  and  you  were  asking  about  play. 
I  think  a  change  would  be  play  to  me." 

"Well,  this  is  a  change,  or  I  don't  know  the 


188  THE  END  or  A  COIL. 

meaning  of  the  word.  You've  just  come,  and  have 
not  examined  the  ground  yet.  Must  have  a  good 
market,  if  this  fruit  is  any  sign." 

"There  is  no  market  or  anything  else,  except 
what  you  can  find  in  a  little  village.  The  straw- 
berries come  from  Brierley  House,  where  Dolly 
goes  to  get  Tier  play.  As  for  me,  who  cannot  run 
about,  on  my  feet,  or  anyway,  I  sit  here  and  won- 
der when  she  will  be  back  again.  Are  we  to  have 
no  carriage  here,  Mr.  Copley  ?  " 

'"  We  had  better  find  out  how  you  like  it  first, 
seems  to  me.  Hardly  worth  while,  if  you're  not 
going  to  stay." 

Mr.  Copley  rose  and  sauntered  out  to  the  porch, 
and  Dolly  looked  furtively  at  her  mother.  She 
saw  a  troubled,  anxious  face,  lines  of  nervous  un- 
rest; she  saw  that  her  father's  coming  had  not 
brought  refreshment  or  relief;  and  truly  she  did 
not  perceive  why  it  should.  Dolly  was  wholly  in- 
experienced, in  all  but  the  butterfly  life  of  very 
happy  young  years;  nevertheless  she  could  not  fail 
to  read,  or  at  least  half  read,  some  signs  of  another 
sort  of  life.  She  noticed  that  her  father's  manner 
wanted  its  ordinary  careless,  confident  ease;  there 
was  something  forced  about  it;  his  face  bore  tokens 
of  loss  of  sleep,  and  had  a  trait  of  uneasiness  most 
unwonted  in  Mr.  Copley.  Dolly  sat  still  a  little 
while,  and  then  went  out  and  joined  her  father  in 
the  porch.  Mr.  St.  Leger  had  come  in,  so  that  she 
did  not  leave  her  mother  alone.  Dolly  came  close 
and  laid  her  arm  round  her  father's  neck,  her  fin- 


MONEY.  189 

gers  playing  with  his  hair;  while  he  fondly  threw 
one  arm  about  her. 

"  How  is  it,  Dolly  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Don't  you  like 
it  here?" 

"/  do,  very  much.  But  mother  finds  it  very 
quiet.  I  think  she  would  like  to  travel,  father." 

"  Travel !  But  I  can't  go  travelling.  I  cannot 
get  away  from  London  for  more  than  a  day. 
Quiet!  I  thought  she  wanted  quiet.  I  heard  of 
nothing  but  her  want  of  quiet,  till  I  got  her  down 
here;  and  now  she  wants  noise." 

"Not  noise,  exactly,  but  change." 

"Well,  what  is  this  but  change?  as  I  said.  I  do 
not  know  what  would  please  her." 

"I  know  what  would  please  me,"  said  Dolly 
with  her  heart  beating;  for  she  was  venturing  on 
unknown  ground. — "A  little  money." 

"  Money !  "  exclaimed  her  father.  "  What  in  the 
world  do  you  want  with  money  down  here  ?  " 

"To  pay  the  servants,  father,"  Dolly  said  low. 
"Margaret  asked  me  for  her  month's  wages,  and 
I  said  I  would  ask  you.  Can  you  give  it  to 
nje  ?  " 

"She  cannot  do  anything  with  money  down 
here  either.  She  don't  want  it.  Her  wages  are 
safe,  tell  her.  I'll  take  care  of  them  for  her." 

"But,  father,  if  she  likes  to  take  care  of  them 
for  herself,  she  has  the  right.  Such  people  like  to 
see  their  money,  I  suppose."  - 

"  I  have  yet  to  find  the  people  that  don't,"  said 
her  father.  "  But  really,  she'll  have  to  wait,  my 


190  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

child.  I  have  not  brought  so  much  in  my  pocket- 
book  with  me." 

This  also  struck  Dolly  as  very  unusual.  Never 
in  her  life,  that  she  could  remember,  had  her  fa- 
ther confessed  before  to  an  empty  purse. 

"Then,  could  you  send  it  to  me,  father,  when 
you  go  back  to  London  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I'll  send  it.  Or  better,  wait  till  I  come 
down  again.  You  would  not  know  how  to  man- 
age if  I  sent  it.  And  Margaret  really  cannot  be 
in  a  hurry." 

Dolly  stood  still,  fingering  the  locks  of  her  fa- 
ther's thick  hair,  while  her  mental  thermometer 
went  down  and  down.  She  knew  by  his  whole 
manner  that  the  money  was  not  at  hand  even 
were  he  in  London ;  and  where  then  was  it  ?  Mr. 
Copley  had  always  till  now  had  plenty ;  what  had 
happened,  or  what  was  the  cause  of  the  change  ? 
And  how  far  had  it  gone  ?  and  to  what  point 
might  it  go  ?  and  what  should  she  do,  if  she  could 
not  soon  pay  Margaret?  and  what  would  become 
of  her  mother,  if  not  only  her  travelling  projects 
were  shattered  but  also  her  personal  and  household 
comforts  should  fail  her  where  she  was?  What 
could  Dolly  do,  to  save  money?  or  could  she  in 
any  way  touch  the  source  of  the  evil,  and  bi'ing 
about  an  essential  bettering  of  this  new  and  evil 
state  of  things?  She  must  know  more  first;  and 
how  should  she  get  more  knowledge  ? 

There  came  a  sigh  to  her  ears  here,  which 
greatly  touched  her.  Nevertheless,  for  the  present 


MONEY.  191 

she  could  not  even  shew  sympathy,  for  she  dared 
not  seem  aware  of  the  need  for  it.  Tears  came  to 
her  eyes,  but  she  commanded  them  back;  that 
would  not  do,  either. 

"  Suppose  we  take  a  walk,  Dolly,  in  that  jolly 
old  wood  yonder  ? "  Mr.  Copley  said.  "  That's 
Brierley  Park,  ain't  it?  We  might  go  and  see  the 
house,  if  you  like." 

"  It  is  Sunday,  father." 

"  Well,  what  then  ?  The  world  is  pretty  much 
the  same  thing  Sunday  that  it  is  other  days,  eh?  " 

"  Yes,  father — the  world ;  but  not  the  day.  That 
is  not  the  same  as  the  rest." 

"  Why  not  ?  We  cannot  go  to  church  to-day,  if 
that  is  what  you  are  thinking  of.  I  took  church 
time  to  come  down  here.  And  if  you  wanted  to 
go  to  church,  Dolly,  you  couldn't  have  a  finer  tem- 
ple than  over  yonder." 

"0  if  you'll  go  to  church  there,  father,  I'll  go." 

"To  be  sure  I  will.     Get  your  hat." 

"  And  my  Bible  ?  " 

"  Bible  ?  "  Mr.  Copley  looked  at  her.  "  I  didn't 
say  anything  about  a  Bible.  We  are  going  to 
take  a  walk.  You  don't  want  a  book  to  carry." 

"  How  are  we  going  to  church  there,  then?" 

"  Think  good  thoughts,  and  enjoy  the  works  of 
the  good  Creator.  That's  all  you  can  do  in  any 
church,  Dolly.  Come,  little  Puritan." 

Dolly  did  not  quite  know  what  to  do;  however, 
she  got  her  hat,  finding  that  her  mother  was  will- 
ing; and  she  and  her  father  went  down  to  the 


192  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

bridge.  There,  to  her  dismay  somewhat,  they 
were  joined  by  Mr.  St.  Leger.  But  not  to  Mr. 
Copley's  dismay;  he  welcomed  the  young  man 
openly.  Dolly  would  have  gone  back  now,  but 
she  did  not  dare. 

"Going  to  see  the  house?"  Lawrence  asked. 

"  It  is  Sunday,"  said  Dolly.     "  You  cannot." 

"  There's  a  way  of  opening  doors,  even  on  Sun- 
day," said  the  other. 

"No,  not  here.  The  housekeeper  will  not  let 
you  in.  She  is  a  Christian." 

"She  is  a  Methodist,  you  mean,"  said  Mr.  Cop- 
ley. 

"I  believe  she  is  a  Methodist.  She  is  a  good 
friend  of  mine." 

"  What  business  have  you  to  make  friends  with 
Methodists?  we're  all  good  Church  people;  hey, 
Lawrence  ?  What  grand  old  woods  these  are ! " 

"  How  old  do  you  suppose  these  trees  to  be, 
father?" 

"Can't  guess;  less  than  centuries  would  not  do. 
Centuries  of  being  let  alone !  I  wonder  how  men 
would  get  on,  if  they  could  have  as  good  a 
chance?  Glorious!  Go  on,  children,  and  take 
your  walk;  I  will  lie  down  here  and  rest.  I  be- 
lieve I  want  that  more  than  walking." 

He  threw  himself  down  at  full  length  on  the 
turf  in  the  shadow  of  a  giant  beech.  Dolly  and 
her  remaining  companion  passed  slowly  on.  This 
was  not  what  she  had  reckoned  upon ;  but  she  saw 
that  her  father  wished  to  be  left  alone,  and  she 


MONEY.  193 

did  not  feel  nevertheless  that  she  could  go  home 
and  leave  the  party.  Slowly  she  and  Mr.  St. 
Leger  sauntered  on,  from  the  shadow  of  one  great 
tree  to  another;  Dolly  thinking  what  she  should 
do.  When  they  were  gotten  out  of  sight  and  out 
of  earshot,  she  too  stopped  and  sat  down  on  a 
•  shady  bank  which  the  roots  of  an  immense  oak 
had  thrown  up  around  its  base. 

"  What  now  ?  "  said  Lawrence. 

"  This  is  a  good  place  to  stay.  Father  wishes  to 
be  left  to  himself." 

"  But  aren't  you  going  any  further  ?  " 

"There  is  nothing  to  be  gained  by  going  any 
further.  It  is  as  pretty  here  as  anywhere  in  the 
wood." 

"  We  might  go  on  and  see  the  pheasantry.  Have 
you  seen  the  pheasantry  ?  " 

"No." 

"That  does  not  depend  on  the  housekeeper's 
pleasure ;  and  the  people  on  the  place  are  not  all 
Methodists.  I  fancy  we  should  have  no  trouble  in 
getting  to  see  that.  Come !  It  is  really  very  fine, 
and  worth  a  walk  to  see.  I  am  not  much  of  a 
place  hunter,  but  the  Brierley  pheasantry  is  some- 
thing by  itself." 

"  Not  to-day,"  said  Dolly. 

"  Why  not  to-day  ?     I  can  get  the  gate  opened." 

"  You  forget,  it  is  Sunday,  Mr.  St.  Leger." 

"  I  do  not  forget  it,"  said  he,  throwing  himself 
down  on  the  bank  beside  her.  "  I  came  here  to 
have  the  day  with  you.  It's  a  holiday.  Mr.  Cop- 
U 


194  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

ley  keeps  a  fellow  awfully  busy,  other  days,  if  one 
has  the  good  fortune  to  be  his  secretary.  I  re- 
member particularly  well  that  it  is  Sunday.  What 
about  it?  Can't  a  fellow  have  it,  now  he  has 
got  it?" 

The  blue  eyes  were  looking  with  a  surprised  sort 
of  complaint  in  them,  yet  not  wholly  discontented, 
at  Dolly.  How  could  they  be  discontented  ?  So 
fair  an  object  to  rest  upon  and  so  curiosity-provok- 
ing too,  as  she  was.  Dolly's  advantages  were  not 
decked  out  at  all;  she  was  dressed  in  a  simple 
white  gown ;  and  there  were  none  of  the  formali- 
ties of  fine  ladyism  about  her;  a  very  plain  little 
girl ;  and  yet,  Lawrence  was  not  far  wrong  when 
he  thought  her  the  fairest  thing  his  eyes  had  ever 
seen.  Her  eyes  had  such  a  mingling  of  the  child- 
like and  the  wise;  her  hair  curled  in  such  an  art- 
less, elegant  way  about  her  temples  and  in  her 
neck;  the  neck  itself  had  such  a  pretty  set  and 
carriage,  the  figure  was  so  graceful  in  its  girlish 
outlines;  and  above  all,  her  manner  had  such  an 
inexplicable  combination  of  the  utterly  free  and 
the  utterly  unapproachable.  Lawrence  lay  think- 
ing all  this,  or  part  of  it;  Dolly  was  thinking  how 
she  should  dispose  of  him.  She  could  not  well  say 
anything  that  would  directly  seem  to  condemn 
her  father.  And  while  she  was  thinking  what 
answer  she  should  make,  Lawrence  had  forgot 
his  question. 

"  Do  you  like  this  park  ?  "  he  began  on  another 
tack. 


MONEY.  195 

"  0  more  than  I  can  tell  you !  It  is  perfect.  It 
is  magnificent.  There  is  nothing  like  it  in  all 
America.  At  least,  /  never  saw  anything  like  it 
there." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  Lawrence.  "  I  mean,  why  is 
there  not  anything  like  this  there  ?  " 

Then  Dolly's  face  dimpled  all  up  in  one  of  its  ex- 
pressions of  extreme  sense  of  fun. 

"We  are  not  old  enough,"  she  said.  "You  know 
when  these  trees  were  young,  our  land  was  filled 
with  the  red  men,  and  overgrown  with  forests." 

"  Well,  those  forests  were  old." 

"  Yes,  but  in  a  forest  trees  do  not  grow  like  this. 
They  cannot.  And  then  the  forest  had  to  be  cut 
down." 

"Then  you  like  England  better  than  America?" 

"  I  never  saw  in  my  life  anything  half  so  beauti- 
ful as  Brierley  Park." 

"You  would  be  contented  with  such  a  home, 
wherever  it  might  be  ?  " 

"As  far  as  the  trees  went, — "  said  Dolly,  with 
another  ripple  of  fun  breaking  over  her  face. 

"Tell  me,"  said  Lawrence, — "are  all  American 
girls  like  you  ?  " 

"  In  what  way  ?     We  do  not  all  look  alike." 

"No,  no;  I  do  not  mean  looks;  they  are  no  more 
like  you  in  that,  than  you  say  America  resembles 
Brierley  Park.  But  you  are  not  like  an  English 
girl." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  is  not  an  equal  compliment  to 
me.  But  why  should  Americans  be  different  from 


196  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

English  people?  We  went  over  from  England 
only  a  little  while  ago." 

"  Institutions  ?  "  Lawrence  ventured. 

"What,  because  we  have  a  President,  and  you 
have  a  King?  What  difference  should  that  make ? " 

"Then  you  see  no  difference?  Am  I  like  an 
American,  now  ?  " 

"  You  are  not  like  my  father,  certainly.  But  I 
do  not  know  any  American  young  men — except 
one.  And  I  don't  know  him." 

"  That  sounds  very  much  like  a  riddle.  Won't 
you  be  so  good  as  to  explain  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  riddle,"  said  Dolly.  "  I  knew  him 
when  I  was  at  school — a  little  girl — and  1  have 
never  seen  him  since." 

"  Then  you  don't  know  him  now,  I  should  say." 

"No.  And  yet  I  feel  as  if  I  knew  him.  I 
should  know  him,  if  we  saw  each  other  again." 

"Seems  to  have  made  a  good  deal  of  an  im- 
pression ! " 

"Yes,  I  think  he  did.     I  liked  him." 

"Before  you  see  him  again,  you  will  have  for- 
gotten him,"  said  Lawrence  comfortably.  "  Do  you 
not  think  you  could  forget  America,  if  somebody 
would  make  you  mistress  of  such  a  place  as  this  ?  " 

"And  if  everybody  I  loved  was  here?  Perhaps," 
said  Dolly,  looking  round  her  at  the  soft  swelling 
green  turf  over  which  the  trees  stretched  their 
great  branches. 

"But,"  said  Lawrence,  lying  on  his  elbow  and 
watching  her,  "would  you  want  everybody  you 


MONEY.  197 

love?  The  Bible  says  that  a  woman  shall  leave 
father  and  mother  and  cleave  to  her  husband." 

"  No ;  the  Bible  says  that  is  what  the  man  shall 
do;  leave  father  and  mother  and  cleave  unto  his 
wife." 

"  They  work  it  the  other  way,"  said  Lawrence. 
"  With  us,  it  is  the  woman  who  leaves  her  family 
to  go  with  the  man." 

"Mr.  St.  Leger,"  said  Dolly  suddenly,  "father 
does  not  look  well.  What  do  you  think  is  the 
matter  with  him  ?  " 

"  Oh — aw — yes !  Do  you  think  he  doesn't  look 
well  ?  "  Lawrence  answered  vaguely. 

"  Not  ill — but  not  just  like  himself  either.  What 
is  it?" 

"I — well,  I  have  thought  that  myself  sometimes," 
replied  the  young  man. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  him?"  Dolly  repeated 
anxiously. 

"  Oh,  not  much,  he  spends  too  much  time  at — at 
his  office,  you  know !  " 

"  He  has  no  need  to  do  that.  He  does  not  want 
the  office — not  for  the  money's  sake." 

"  Most  men  want  money,"  said  Lawrence. 

"  But  do  you  think  he  does  ?  " 

"0  why  not?  Why,  my  father  wants  money, 
always  wants  money;  and  yet  you  would  say  he 
has  enough,  too.  Dolly — "  She  interrupted  him. 

"  But  what  did  you  mean  ?  You  meant  to  say 
he  spends  too  much  time  at — at  what  ?  Say  what 
you  were  going  to  say." 


198  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

Lawrence  rolled  himself  over  on  the  bank  so  that 
he  could  look  up  straight  into  her  face.  It  was  a 
good  look  of  his  blue  eyes.  "Dolly,"  said  he,  "if 
you  will  leave  father  and  mother  for  my  sake,  fig- 
uratively, I  mean, — of  course,  figuratively, — I  will 
take  care  that  neither  of  them  ever  wants  anything 
for  the  rest  of  their  lives.  And  you  shall  have  a 
place  as  good  as  Brierley  Park." 

Dolly's  spirits  must  have  taken  one  or  two  quick 
leaps,  for  her  colour  changed  so ;  but  happily  Law- 
rence's speech  was  long  enough  to  let  her  get  pos- 
session of  herself  again.  She  answered  with  an 
a  plomb  which,  born  of  necessity  as  it  was,  and 
natural,  equalled  that  of  the  most  practised  fine 
lady  which  should  shew  her  artificial  habit  or  skill. 
Like  an  instinct  of  self-preservation,  I  suppose; 
swift  in  action,  correct  in  adjustment,  taking  its 
measures  with  unpremeditated  good  aim.  She  an- 
swered with  absolute  seeming  calmness, 

"You  evade  my  question,  I  observe." 

"  I  am  sure  you  evade  mine ! "  said  the  young 
man,  much  more  hotly. 

"  Perhaps  I  do.  Naturally,  I  want  mine  an- 
swered first." 

"  And  then  will  you  give  me  the  answer  to  my 
question  ?  "  said  he  eagerly. 

"That  would  seem  to  be  no  more  than  good 
manners." 

"  What  do  you  want  to  know,  Dolly  ?  I  am 
sure  I  can't  tell  what  to  say  to  you." 

"Tell  me  what  makes  my  father  look   unlike 


MONEY.  199 

himself,"  said  Dolly  quietly.  She  spoke  quietly; 
not  as  if  she  were  greatly  concerned  to  know  the 
answer;  yet  if  Lawrence  had  guessed  how  her 
heart  beat  he  would  have  had  still  more  difficulty 
with  his  reply.  He  had  some,  as  it  was;  so  much 
that  he  tried  to  turn  the  matter  off. 

"You  are  imagining  things," 'he  said.  "Mr. 
Copley  seems  to  me  very  much  what  I  have 
always  known  him." 

"  He  does  not  seem  to  me  as  I  have  always 
known  him,"  said  Dolly.  "  And  you  are  not 
saying  what  you  are  thinking,  Mr.  St.  Leger." 

"  You  are  terribly  sharp ! "  said  he,  to  gain 
time. 

"That's  quite  common  among  American  wom- 
en. Go  on,  Mr.  St.  Leger,  if  you  please." 

"  I  declare,  it's  uncanny.  I  feel  as  if  you  could 
see  through  me,  too.  And  no  one  will  bear  such 
looking  into." 

"  Go  on,  Mr.  St.  Leger,"  Dolly  repeated  with  an 
air  of  superiority.  Poor  child,  she  felt  very  weak 
at  the  time. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  say,  'pon  my  honour,"  the 
young  man  averred.  "  I  have  nothing  to  say,  re- 
ally. And  I  am  afraid  of  troubling  you,  besides." 

Dolly  could  not  speak  now.  She  preserved  her 
calm  air  of  attention;  that  was  all. 

"  It's  really  nothing,"  St.  Leger  went  on ;  "  but 
I  suppose,  really,  Mr.  Copley  may  have  lost  some 
money.  That's  nothing,  you  know.  Every  man 
does,  now  and  then.  He  loses,  and  then  he  gains." 


200  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  How  ?  "  said  Dolly  gravely. 

"  0  well,  there  are  various  ways.  Betting,  you 
know,  and  cards.  Everybody  bets;  and  of  course 
he  can't  always  win,  or  betting  would  stop.  That's 
nothing,  Miss  Copley." 

" Have  you  any  idea  how  much  he  has  lost?  " 

"  Haven't  an  idea.  People  don't  tell,  naturally, 
how  hard  they  are  hit.  I  am  sure  it  is  nothing  you 
need  be  concerned  about." 

"Are  not  people  often  ruined  in  that  way?" 
Dolly  asked,  still  preserving  her  outside  calm. 

"  Well,  that  does  happen,  of  course,  now  and 
then,  with  careless  people.  Mr.  Copley  is  not  one 
of  that  sort.  Not  that  kind  of  man." 

"Do  not  people  grow  careless,  in  the  interest 
and  excitement  of  the  play  ?  " 

St.  Leger  hesitated,  and  laughed  a  little,  casting 
up  his  blue  eyes  at  Dolly  as  if  she  were  a  very  pe- 
culiar specimen  of  young  womanhood  and  he  were 
not  quite  sure  how  to  answer  her. 

"I  assure  you,"  he  said,  "there  is  nothing  that  you 
need  be  concerned  about.  I  am  certain  there  is  not." 

"  Not  if  my  father  is  concerned  about  it  already  ?  " 

"  He  is  not  concerned,  I  am  sure..  0  well !  there 
may  be  a  little  temporary  embarrassment — that  can 
happen  to  any  man,  who  is  not  made  of  gold — but 
it  will  be  all  right.  Now,  Miss  Copley — 

She  put  out  her  hand  to  stop  him. 

"Mr.  St.  Leger,  can  you  do  nothing  to  help? 
You  are  kind,  I  know;  you  have  always  been 
kind  to  us ;  can  you  do  nothing  to  help  now  ?  " 


MONEY.  201 

The  young  man  rather  opened  his  eyes.  Was 
this  asking  him  for  an  advance?  It  was  a  very 
cool  proceeding  in  that  case.  "  Help  ?  "  he  repeated 
doubtfully.  "  What  sort  ?  " 

"There  is  only  one  way  that  you  could  help," 
said  Dolly. 

He  saw  she  meant  what  she  meant,  if  he  could 
know  what  that  was;  her  cheeks  had  even  grown 
pale;  the  sweet,  clear  brown  eyes  sought  his  face 
as  if  they  would  reach  his  heart,  which  they  did ; 
but  then, — to  assume  any  of  Mr.  Copley's  respon- 
sibilities— 

"  I'll  assume  all  Mr.  Copley's  responsibilities,  Dol- 
ly," he  said  with  rash  decision — "if  you'll  smile 
upon  me." 

"  Assume  ? — 0  did  you  think  I  meant  that  ?  " 
cried  Dolly,  while  a  furious  flush  came  up  into 
her  face.  "What  a  notion  you  must  have  of 
Americans,  Mr.  St.  Leger!  Do  you  think  father 
would  make  over  his  responsibilities  to  another 
man?  I  did  not  mean  anything  so  impossible 
as  that." 

"  Forgive  me —    Then  what  did  you  mean  ?  " 

"Perhaps  something  as  impossible,"  said  Dolly 
sadly,  while  the  flush  slowly  paled.  "  I  meant — 
couldn't  you — could  you — I  don't  know  but  it  is 
just  as  impossible! — " 

"  Could  I,  what  ?  I  could  do  most  things,  if  you 
wished  it,  Dolly." 

"  Then  you  must  not  call  me  that  till  I  give  you 
leave.  I  was  going  to  say,  could  you  perhaps  do 


202  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

anything  to  get  my  father  away  from  this  habit,  or 
pleasure — 

"Of  betting?" 

"Betting  —  and  cards — it's  all  the  same.  He 
never  used  to  do  it.  Can  you  help,  Mr.  St.  Leger  ?  " 

Dolly's  face  was  a  sort  of  a  marvel.  It  was  so 
childlike,  it  was  so  womanly;  it  was  so  innocent, 
and  it  was  so  forceful.  Lawrence  looked,  and 
would  have  liked  to  do  the  impossible;  but  what 
could  he?  It  was  specially  at  his  own  father's 
card  table,  he  knew,  that  Mr.  Copley  had  lost 
money;  it  was  wholly  in  his  father's  society  that 
he  had  been  initiated  into  the  fascination  of  wagers 
— and  of  something  else.  Could  he  go  against  his 
own  father  ?  and  how  could  he  ?  and  himself  a 
player,  though  a  very  cautious  one,  how  should  he 
influence  another  man  not  to  play  ? 

"Miss  Copley — I  am  younger  than  your  father — " 
Lawrence  began. 

"  I  know.  But  you  might  speak  where  I  cannot. 
Or  you  might  do  something." 

"Mr.  Copley  only  does  what  my  father  does,  and 
what  everybody  does." 

"  If  you  were  to  tell  your  father, — could  not  he 
perhaps  stop  it  ? — bring  my  father  off  the  notion  ?  " 
Dolly  had  reached  the  very  core  of  the  subject  now 
and  touched  what  she  wanted  to  touch;  for  she 
had  a  certain  assurance  in  her  own  mind  that  her 
father's  intercourse  with  the  banker  and  his  cir- 
cle of  friends  had  led  to  all  this  trouble.  Law- 
rence pondered,  looked  serious;  and  finally  prom- 


MONEY.  203 

ised  that  he  would  "  see  what  he  could  do."  He 
would  have  urged  his  own  question  then ;  but  to 
Dolly's  great  relief  Mr.  Copley  found  by  this  time 
that  he  had  had  enough  of  his  own  company; 
and  called  to  them.  However  she  could  not  es- 
cape entirely. 

"  I  have  answered  your  question,  Miss  Copley," 
Lawrence  said  as  they  were  going  down  the  slope 
towards  the  yet  unseen  caller.  "  Hallo  !  yes,  we're 
coming. — Now  am  I  not  to  have  the  promised  an- 
swer to  mine  ?  " 

"  How  did  you  put  it?  the  question?  "  said  Dolly, 
standing  still  and  facing  her  difficulties. 

"You  know.  I  don't  know  how  I  put  it,"  St. 
Leger  said  with  a  half  laugh.  "  But  I  meant,  Dol- 
ly, that  you  are  more  to  me  than  everything  and 
everybody  in  the  world;  and  I  wanted  to  know 
what  I  am  to  you  ?  " 

"  Not  tliat,  Mr.  St.  Leger."  Dolly  was  quiet,  and 
did  not  shun  his  eyes;  and  though  she  did  grow 
rosy,  there  were  some  suspicious  dimples  in  her  fair 
little  face;  very  unencouraging,  but  absolutely  ir- 
resistible at  the  same  time. 

"  What  then  ?  "  said  the  young  man.  "  Of  course, 
I  could  not  be  to  you  what  you  are  to  me,  Dolly. 
Naturally.  But  I  can  take  care  of  your  father  and 
mother,  and  I  will;  and  I  will  put  you  in  a  place 
as  good  as  Brierley  Park.  I  am  my  father's  only 
son,  and  his  heir,  and  I  can  do  pretty  much  what 
I  like  to  do.  But  I  care  for  nothing  if  you  will  not 
share  it  with  me." 


204  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  leave  my  father  and  mother 
at  present,"  said  Dolly,  shaking  her  head. 

"  No,  not  at  present,"  said  he  eagerly,  catching  at 
her  words.  "  Not  at  present.  But  you  do  not  love 
anybody  else,  Dolly  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not ! " 

"  Then  you  will  let  me  hope  ?  You  will  let  me 
hold  myself  your  best  friend,  after  them  ?  " 

"  I  believe  you  are  that,"  said  Dolly,  giving  him 
her  hand; — "except  my  old  Methodist  acquaint- 
ance, Mrs.  Jersey."  Which  addition  was  a  little 
like  a  dash  of  cold  water ;  but  Lawrence  was  toler- 
ably contented  after  all;  and  pondered  seriously 
what  he  could  do  in  the  matter  of  Mr.  Copley's 
gaming  tendencies.  Dolly  was  right;  but  it  is 
awkward  to  preach  against  what  you  practise 
yourself. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

DIFFICULTIES. 

DOLLY  on  her  part  had  not  much  comfort  in  the 
review  of  this  afternoon.  "  It  was  no  good," 
— she  said  to  herself;  "  I  am  afraid  it  has  encour- 
aged Lawrence  St.  Leger  in  nonsense.  I  did  not 
mean  that — but  I  am  afraid  he  took  it  for  encour- 
agement. So  much  for,  going  walking  Sunday. 
I'll  never  do  it  again." 

Lawrence  had  taken  leave  very  cheerfully;  that 
was  certain.  As  much  could  not  be  said  for  his 
principal.  Dolly  had  privately  asked  her  father  to 
send  her  down  the  money  for  the  servants'  wages; 
and  Mr.  Copley  had  given  an  offhand  promise ;  but 
Dolly  saw  that  same  want  of  the  usual  ready  ease 
in  his  manner,  and  was  not  surprised  when  days 
passed  and  the  money  did  not  come.  The  ques- 
tion recurred,  what  was  she  to  do?  She  wrote  to 
remind  her  father;  and  she  took  a  fixed  resolve 
that  she  would  buy  no  more,  of  anything,  that  she 
could  not  on  the  spot  pay  for.  This  however  was 
not  a  resolve  immediately  taken;  it  ensued  when 
after  several  weeks  the  women  again  pressed  for 
their  money,  and  again  in  vain.  Dolly  started 


206  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

back  then  from  the  precipice  she  saw  she  might 
be  nearing,  and  determined  to  owe  no  more  debts. 
She  wrote  to  her  father  once  more,  begging  for  a 
supply.  And  a  supply  came;  but  so  meagre  that 
Dolly  could  but  partially  pay  her  two  servants  and 
keep  a  little  in  hand  to  go  to  market  with.  Mr. 
Copley  had  not  come  down  to  Brierley  in  the  mean 
while.  Lawrence  had. 

Her  unaccustomed  burden  of  care  Dolly  had  kept 
to  herself;  therefore  it  startled  her  when  one  day 
her  mother  began  upon  the  subject. 

"What's  this  about  Margaret's  wages,  Dolly?" 

"  She  asked  me  for  some  money  the  other  day," 
Dolly  answered  as  easily  as  she  could. 

"  You  didn't  give  it  to  her  ?  " 

"  I  have  given  her  part;  I  had  not  the  whole." 

"  Haven't  you  any  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mother,  but  not  enough  to  give  Margaret 
all  she  wants." 

"  Let  her  have  what  you've  got,  and  write  your 
father  to  send  you  some.  I  never  like  to  keep  ser- 
vants waiting.  What's  theirs,  isn't  yours;  and  be- 
sides, they  never  serve  you  so  well,  and  you're  in 
their  power." 

"Mother,  I  want  to  keep  a  little  in  the  house, 
for  every  day  calls;  till  I  get  some  more." 

"Your  father  will  send  it  immediately.  Why 
he  don't  come  himself,  I  don't  see.  J'm  not  gain- 
ing, all  alone  in  this  wilderness,  with  nothing  but 
the  trees  of  Brierley  Park  to  look  at.  I  can't  think 
what  your  father  is  dreaming  about !  " 


DIFFICULTIES.  207 

Dolly  was  silent,  and  hoped  the  subject  had 
blown  over.  Yet  it  could  not  blow  over  for  ever, 
she  reflected.  What  was  she  to  do?  Then  her 
mother  startled  her  again. 

"Dolly — have  you  told  your  father  that  you 
want  money  ?  " 

Dolly  hesitated ;  had  to  say  yes. 

"  And  he  did  not  give  it  to  you  ?  " 

"Yes,  mother;  he  sent  me  some." 

"When?" 

"  It  was — it  must  have  been  three  weeks  ago." 

"  How  much  ?  " 

"Not  enough  to  pay  all  that  is  due  to  Margaret." 

Mrs.  Copley  laid  down  her  face  in  her  hands. 
A  terrible  pain  went  through  Dolly's  heart;  but 
what  could  she  say.  It  seemed  as  if  pain  pricked 
her  like  a  shower  of  arrows,  first  on  this  side  and 
then  on  that.  She  thought  her  mother  had  gained 
somewhat  in  the  past  weeks;  how  would  it,  or 
could  it,  be  now  ?  Presently  Mrs.  Copley  lifted 
up  her  head  with  a  further  question. 

"  Is  Sarah  paid  ?  " 

"No,  mother;  not  yet,"  said  poor  Dolly. 

"  Has  Peter  been  paid  anything  ?  " 

"Not  by  us.  We  do  not  pay  Peter  at  all,"  re- 
plied Dolly,  feeling  as  if  the  words  were  stabbing 
hei\ 

"  Who  does  ?  "  said  her  mother  quickly. 

"  Mr.  St.  Leger  sent  him  here.  He  is  their  ser- 
vant really,  and  they  take  care  of  him." 

"  I  don't  see  how  your  father  can  content  him- 


208  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

self  with  that,"  said  Mrs.  Copley.  "  But  I  suppose, 
that  is  one  of  the  debts  that  you  will  pay,  Dolly." 

Dolly  forced  herself  to  speak  very  quietly,  though 
every  nerve  and  fibre  was  trembling  and  quiver- 
ing. She  said,  "  How,  mother  ?  " 

"I  suppose  you  know.  Mr.  St.  Leger  knows, 
at  any  rate;  and  your  father  too,  it  seems." 

"  Mother,"  said  Dolly,  sitting  up  a  little  straight- 
er,  "do  you  think  I  will  pay  debts  in  tJiat  way  ?  " 

"What  other  way  will  you  pay  them  then, 
child?  what  do  you  and  your  father  expect? 
What  can  you  do,  if  you  have  not  the  money?" 
Mrs.  Copley  spoke  bitterly.  Dolly  waited  a  little, 
perhaps  to  bite  down  or  swallow  down  some 
feeling. 

"Mother,"  she  said,  somewhat  lower,  "do  you 
think  father  would  want  me  to  pay  his  debts 
so?" 

"  Want  to  ?  "  echoed  Mrs.  Copley.  "  I  tell  you, 
Dolly,  when  people  get  into  difficulties  the  question 
is  not  what  they  want  to  do.  They  have  to  pocket 
their  likings,  and  eat  humble  pie.  But  how  has 
your  father  got  into  difficulties?"  she  burst  out 
with  an  expression  of  frightened  distress.  "He 
always  had  plenty.  Dolly ! — tell  me  ! — what  do 
you  know  about  it  ?  what  is  it  ?  How  could  he 
get  into  difficulties !  0  if  we  had  staid  at  home ! 
Dolly,  how  is  it  possible  ?  We  have  always  had 
plenty — money  running  like  water — all  my  life; 
and  now,  how  could  your  father  have  got  into 
difficulties?" 


DIFFICULTIES.  209 

Perhaps  the  difficulty  was  but  transient  and 
would  soon  pass  over,  Dolly  faintly  suggested. 

"  It  don't  look  like  it,"  said  Mrs.  Copley  miser- 
ably, "  and  your  father  don't  look  like  it.  Here 
we  are  down  in  this  desert,  you  and  I,  to  keep  us 
out  of  the  way,  and  where  we  will  cost  as  near 
nothing  as  can  be ;  and  we  can't  pay  that !  Do 
you  know  nothing  about  it,  Dolly?  how  it  has 
come  about  ?  " 

"  I  couldn't  ask  father  such  a  question,  mother, 
you  know." 

"  And  what  is  to  become  of  me ! "  Mrs.  Copley 
went  on; — "when  travelling  is  the  thing  I  need. 
And  what  is  to  become  of  you,  Dolly?  Nobody 
to  be  seen,  or  to  see  you,  but  St.  Leger.  Have 
you  made  up  your  mind  to  be  content  with  him  ? 
Will  you  have  him,  Dolly?  and  is  that  the  way 
your  father  is  going  to  take  care  of  you  ?  " 

Poor  Mrs.  Copley,  having  so  long  swallowed  her 
troubles  in  secret,  dreading  to  give  pain  to  Dolly, 
now  that  her  mouth  was  once  opened  poured  them 
forth  relentlessly.  Why  not?  the  subject  was 
broached  at  last,  and  having  spoken,  she  might 
go  on  to  speak.  And  poor  Dolly,  full  of  her  own 
anxieties,  did  not  know  where  to  begin,  to  quiet 
those  of  her  mother. 

"  Mr.  St.  Leger  is  nothing  to  me,"  she  said  how- 
ever, in  answer  to  Mrs.  Copley's  last  suggestions. 

"He  thinks  he  is." 

"  Then  he  is  very  foolish,"  said  Dolly  reddening. 

"It  is  you  that  are  foolish,  and  you  just  do  not 
14 


210  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

know  any  better.  I  don't  think,  Dolly,  that  it 
would  be  at  all  a  bad  thing  for  you ; — perhaps  it 
would  be  the  very  best;  though  I'd  rather  have 
you  marry  one  of  our  own  people;  but  St.  Leger 
is  rich,  very  rich,  I  suppose;  and  your  father  has 
got  mixed  up  with  them  somehow,  and  I  suppose 
that  would  settle  everything.  St.  Leger  is  hand- 
some, too;  he  has  a  nice  face;  he  has  beautiful 
eyes;  and  he  is  a  gentleman." 

"  His  face  wants  strength." 

"That's  no  matter.  I  begin  to  believe,  Dolly, 
that  you  have  wit  enough  for  two." 

"  I  am  not  speaking  of  wit;  I  mean  strength;  and 
I  should  never  like  any  man  that  hadn't  it;  not 
like  him  in  the  way  you  mean,  mother." 

"  Strength  ?  what  sort  of  strength  ?  " 

"I  mean  manliness;  power  to  do  right;  power 
over  himself  and  others ;  power  over  the  wrong,  to 
put  it  down,  and  over  the  right,  to  lift  it  up  and 
give  it  play.  I  don't  know  that  I  can  tell  you  what 
I  mean,  mother;  but  that  is  my  notion  of  a  mati." 

"You  are  romantic,  I  am  afraid,  Dolly.  You 
have  been  reading  novels  too  much." 

"What  novels,  mother?  I  have  not  read  any, 
except  Scott's  and  Miss  Austen's  and  '  The  Scottish 
Chiefs.'" 

"Well,  you  have  got  romantic  ideas,  I  am  afraid. 
Your  talk  sounds  romantic.  You  won't  find  that 
sort  of  man." 

"  I  don't  care,"  said  Dolly.  "  But  if  I  don't,  I'll 
never  marry  any  other  sort." 


DIFFICULTIES.  211 

"And  that  is  a  delusion  too,"  said  Mrs.  Copley. 
"  You  will  do  just  as  other  girls  do.  Nobody 
marries  her  fancy.  And  besides,  St.  Leger  thinks 
he  has  got  you;  and  I  don't  know  but  he  and 
your  father  will  manage  it  so.  He  don't  ask  my 
advice." 

Now  this  was  not  quite  true;  for  the  subject  of 
Mr.  St.  Leger  had  been  discussed  more  than  once 
between  Dolly's  parents;  though  certainly  Mrs. 
Copley  did  see  that  matters  were  out  of  her  hand 
and  beyond  her  guidance  now.  Dolly  was  glad  to 
have  the  conversation  turn  to  something  else;  but 
the  several  subjects  of  it  hardly  left  her  head  any 
more. 

It  is  blessedly  true,  that  at  seventeen  there  is  a 
powerful  spring  of  elasticity  in  the  mind,  and  an 
inexhaustible  treasury  of  hope ;  also  it  is  true  that 
Mrs.  Copley  was  not  wrong  in  her  estimate  of 
Dolly  when  she  adjudged  her  to  have  plenty  of 
"wit";  otherwise  speaking,  resources  and  acute- 
ness.  That  was  all  true;  nevertheless  Dolly's  sev- 
enteen-year-old heart  and  head  were  greatly  bur- 
dened with  what  they  had  to  carry  just  now. 
Experience  gave  her  no  help,  and  the  circum- 
stances forbade  her  to  depend  upon  the  experience 
of  her  mother.  Mrs.  Copley's  nerves  must  not  be 
excited.  So  Dolly  carried  her  burden  alone,  and 
found  it  very  heavy;  and  debated  her  questions 
with  herself,  and  could  find  an  answer  to  never  a 
one  of  them.  How  should  she  give  her  mother 
the  rest  and  distraction  of  travelling  ?  The  doctor 


212  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

said,  and  Dolly  believed,  that  it  would  be  the  best 
thing  for  her.  But  she  could  not  even  get  speech 
of  her  father  to  consult  over  the  matter  with  him 
Mr.  Copley  was  caught  in  embarrassments  of  his 
own,  worse  than  nervous  ones.  What  could  Dolly 
do,  to  break  him  off  from  his  present  habits,  those 
she  knew  and  those  she  dimly  feared  ?  Then 
when,  as  was  inevitable,  the  image  of  Mr.  St. 
Leger  presented  itself,  as  affording  the  readiest 
solution  of  all  these  problems,  Dolly  bounded  back. 
Not  iliat,  of  all  possible  outcomes  of  the  present 
state  of  things.  Dolly  would  neither  be  bought 
nor  sold;  would  not  in  that  way  even  be  her 
parents'  deliverer.  She  was  sure  she  could  not 
do  that.  What  else  could  she  do  ? 

She  carried  these  questions  about  with  her,  out 
into  the  garden,  and  up  into  her  room;  and  many 
a  hot  tear  she  shed  over  them,  when  she  could  be 
long  enough  away  from  her  mother  to  let  the  tears 
dry  and  the  signs  of  them  disappear  before  she 
met  Mrs.  Copley's  eyes  again.  To  her  eyes  Dolly 
was  unfailingly  bright  and  merry;  a  most  sweet 
companion  and  most  entertaining  society;  lively, 
talkative,  and  busy  with  endless  plans  for  her 
mother's  amusement.  Meanwhile  she  wrote  to 
her  father,  begging  him  to  come  down  to  Brier- 
ley;  she  said  she  wanted  to  talk  to  him. 

Three  days  after  that  letter  came  Lawrence  St. 
Leger.  Mr.  Copley  could  not  spare  the  time,  he 
reported. 

"Spare  the  time  from  what?"  Dolly  asked. 


DIFFICULTIES.  213 

"  0  business,  of  course.     It  is  always  business." 

"  What  sort?     Not  consul  business." 

"All  sorts,"  said  Lawrence.  "He  couldn't  come. 
So  he  sent  me.  What  is  the  thing,  Miss  Dolly? 
He  said  something  was  up." 

"  I  wanted  to  talk  to  my  father,"  Dolly  said 
coldly. 

"Won't  I  do?" 

"  Not  at  all.     I  had  business  to  discuss." 

"  The  journey,  eh  ?  " 

"That  was  one  thing — "  Dolly  was  obliged  to 
allow. 

"  Well,  look  here.  About  that,  I've  a  plan.  I 
think  I  can  arrange  it  with  Mr.  Copley,  if  you  and 
your  mother  would  be  willing  to  set  off  with  me, 
and  let  Mr.  Copley  join  us  somewhere — say  at 
Baden  Baden,  or  Venice,  or  where  you  like.  He 
could  come  as  soon  as  he  was  ready,  you  know." 

"  But  you  know,"  said  Dolly  quietly,  "  I  specially 
want  him.  Himself." 

"But  then  your  mother  wants  the  journey.  She 
really  does.  The  doctor  says  so,  you  know,  and  I 
think  he's  right.  And  Mr.  Copley  won't  leave 
London  just  now.  He  could  send  his  secretary, 
you  know.  That's  all  right." 

"  I  must  see  father,  before  I  can  do  anything," 
said  Dolly  evasively.  "  I  will  write  a  letter  for  you 
to  carry  back  to  him.  And  I  will  go  do  it  at  once." 

"  And  I  will  take  a  look  at  what  Peter  is  doing," 
said  the  young  man.  "  Such  fellows  always  want 
looking  after." 


214  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

Dolly  had  looked  after  Peter  herself.  She  paused 
before  an  upper  window  in  her  way  to  her  room, 
'to  cast  a  glance  down  into  the  garden.  Old  Peter 
was  there,  at  some  work  she  had  set  him ;  and  be- 
fore him  stood  Lawrence,  watching  him,  and  she 
supposed  making  remarks ;  but  at  any  rate,  his  air 
was  the  air  of  a  master  and  of  one  very  much  at 
home.  Dolly  saw  it,  read  it,  stood  still  to  read  it, 
and  turned  from  the  window  with  her  heart  too 
full  of  vexation  and  perturbation  to  write  her  letter 
then.  She  felt  a  longing  for  somebody  to  talk  to, 
even  though  she  could  by  no  means  lay  open  all 
her  case  for  counsel;  the  air  of  the  house  was  too 
close  for  her;  her  breath  could  not  be  drawn  free 
in  that  neighbourhood.  She  must  see  somebody; 
and  no  one  had  poor  Dolly  to  go  to  but  the  house- 
keeper, Mrs.  Jersey.  Nobody,  near  or  far.  So  she 
slipped  out  of  the  house  and  took  a  roundabout 
way  to  the  great  mansion.  She  dared  not  take  a 
straight  way  and  cross  the  bridge,  lest  she  should 
be  seen  and  followed;  so  she  made  a  circuit,  and 
got  into  the  park  woods  only  after  some  time  of 
warm  walking  through  lanes  and  over  fields.  Till 
then  she  had  hurried;  now,  safe  from  interruption, 
she  went  slowly,  and  pondered  what  she  was  going 
to  do  or  say.  Pondered  everything,  and  could  not 
with  all  her  thinking  make  the  confusion  less  con- 
fusion. It  was  a  warm,  still,  sultry  day ;  the  turf 
was  dry,  the  air  was  spicy  under  the  great  trees; 
shadow. and  sunshine  alternately  crossed  her  path, 
or  more  correctly  her  path  crossed  them.  A  certain 


DIFFICULTIES.  215 

sense  of  contrast  smote  her  as  she  went.  Around 
her  were  the  tokens  of  a  broad  security,  sheltering 
protection,  quiet  and  immoveable  possession,  care- 
less wealth ;  and  within  her  a  tumult  of  fear,  uncer- 
tainty, exposure,  and  craving  need.  Life  seemed  a 
very  unequal  thing  to  the  little  American  girl.  Her 
step  became  slower.  What  was  she  going  to  say 
to  Mrs.  Jersey  ?  It  was  impossible  to  determine  ^ , 
nevertheless  Dolly  felt  that  she  must  see  her  and 
speak  to  her.  That  was  a  necessity. 

Through  the  trees  she  caught  at  last  sight  of  the 
grand  old  house.  The  dog  knew  her  by  this  time 
and  she  did  not  fear  him.  She  found  the  house- 
keeper busy  with  some  sewing  and  glad  to  welcome 
her.  Mrs.  Jersey  was  that  always.  To-day  she 
looked  a  little  closer  than  usual  at  her  visiter,  dis- 
cerning that  Dolly's  mind  was  not  jiist  in  its  wonted 
poise.  And  besides,  she  loved  to  look  at  her. 

Yet  it  is  not  easy  to  describe  that  for  which  our 
eyes  seek  and  dwell  upon  a  face  or  form.  It  is 
easy  to  say  brown  eyes  and  lightly  curled,  waving, 
beautiful  hair;  but  hair  is  beautiful  in  different 
ways,  and  so  faces.  Can  we  put  Dolly's  charm 
into  words  ?  Mrs.  Jersey  saw  a  delicate,  graceful, 
active  figure,  to  begin  with;  delicate  without  any 
suspicion  of  weakness;  active  in  little  quick,  gra- 
cious movements,  which  it  was  fascinating  to  watch ; 
and  when  not  in  motion,  lovely  in  its  childlike  un- 
consciousness of  repose.  Her  hair  was  exceedingly 
beautiful,  not  on  account  of  its  mass  or  colour  so 
much  as  for  the  great  elegance  of  its  growth  and 


216  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

curly  arrangement  or  disarrangement  around  the 
face  and  neck;  and  the  face  was  a  blending  of 
womanly  and  childlike.  It  could  seem  by  turns 
most  of  the  one  or  most  of  the  other;  but  the  clear 
eyes  had  at  all  times  a  certain  deep  inwardness, 
along  with  their  bright,  intelligent  answer  to  the 
moment's  impression,  and  also  a  certain  innocent 
outlook,  which  was  very  captivating.  And  then, 
at  a  moment's  notice,  Dolly's  face  from  being  grave 
and  thoughtful,  would  dimple  all  up  with  some 
flash  of  fun,  and  make  you  watch  its  change  back 
to  gravity  again,  with  an  intensified  sense  both  of 
its  merry  and  of  its  serious  charm.  She  smiled  at 
Mrs.  Jersey  now  as  she  came  in,  but  the  house- 
keeper saw  that  the  eyes  had  more  care  in  their 
thoughtfulness  than  she  was  accustomed  to  see  in 
them. 

"  And  how  is  the  mother,  dear  ?  "  she  asked,  when 
Dolly  had  drawn  up  a  chair  and  sat  down ;  for  they 
were  grown  familiar  friends  by  this  time. 

"  She  is  not  getting  on  much,  Mrs.  Jersey.  I 
wanted  to  talk  to  you  about  her.  The  doctor  says 
travelling  would  be  the  best  thing." 

"  And  you  will  go  and  travel  ?  Where  will  you 
go?" 

"  I  don't  know  yet  whether  we  can  go  anywhere. 
Mother  wants  to  go."  Dolly  looked  out  hard  into  the 
tree  groups  on  the  lawn.  They  barred  the  vision. 

"  That  is  one  sign  then  that  the  doctor  is  right," 
said  Mrs.  Jersey.  "  It  is  good  for  sick  folks  to  have 
what  they  like." 


DIFFICULTIES.  217 

"  Isn't  it  good  for  people  that  are  not  sick  ?  " 

"Sometimes,"  said  Mrs.  Jersey  smiling.  "But 
sometimes  not;  or  else  the  good  Lord  would  let 
them  have  it,  when  he  does  not  let  them.  What 
are  you  wanting,  Miss  Dolly  ?  " 

"  I  want  everything  different  from  what  it  is  just 
now !  "  said  Dolly,  the  tears  starting  to  her  eyes. 
The  housekeeper  was  moved  with  a  great  sympa- 
thy ;  sympathy  that  was  silent  at  first. 

"  Can  I  help  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Maybe  you  can  help  with  your  counsel,"  said 
Dolly,  brushing  her  hand  over  her  eyes;  "that  is 
what  I  came  here  for  to-day.  I  wanted  to  speak 
to  somebody;  and  I  have  nobody  but  you,  Mrs. 
Jersey." 

"  Your  mother,  my  dear  ?  " 

"I  can't  worry  mother." 

"  True.  You  are  right.  Well,  my  dear  ?  What 
do  you  want  counsel  about  ?  " 

"It  is  very  difficult  to  tell  you.  I  don't  know  if 
I  can.  I  will  try.  One  thing.  Mrs.  Jersey, — is  it 
right  sometimes, — is  it  a  girl's  duty  ever, — to  sacri- 
fice herself  for  her  parents  ?  ". 

The  housekeeper  had  not  expected  this  form  of 
dilemma,  and  hesitated  a  few  minutes. 

"  Sacrifice  herself  how,  Miss  Dolly  ?  " 

"Marrying,  for  instance." 

"  Marrying  somebody  she  does  not  care  for  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  How  'for  her  parents'?" 

"  Suppose — I  am  just  supposing, — suppose  he  has 


218  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

money,  and  they  haven't.  Suppose,  for  instance, 
they  are  in  difficulties,  and  by  her  sacrificing  her- 
self she  can  put  them  out  of  difficulty?  Such  a 
case  might  be,  you  know." 

"Often  has  been;  or  at  least  people  have  thought 
so.  But  Miss  Dolly,  where  is  a  young  lady's  first 
duty?" 

"To  God,  of  course;  her  first  duty." 

"And  next  after  God  ?  " 

"  To  her  parents,  I  suppose." 

"  And  besides  her  parents  ?  " 

"I  don't  know;  nobody,  I  think." 

"  Let  us  see.     She  owes  something  to  herself." 

"  Does  she  ?  " 

"  And  do  you  not  think  she  owes  something  to 
the  other  party  concerned?  don't  you  think  she 
owes  something  to  the  gentleman  she  is  to  marry?" 

"  Yes — of  course,"  said  Dolly  slowly.  "  I  do  not 
know  exactly  what,  though;  nor  exactly  what  she 
owes  to  herself." 

"  Before  taking  any  course  of  action,  in  a  matter 
that  is  very  important,  shouldn't  she  look  all  round 
the  subject  ?  and  see  what  will  become  of  all  these 
duties  ?  " 

"  Certainly.     But  the  first  comes  first." 

"The  first  comes  first.  How  does  the  first  look 
to  you  ?  " 

"The  first  is  her  duty  to  God." 

"  Well.     What  does  her  duty  to  God  say?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Dolly  very  gravely.  "  I  am 
all  in  a  puzzle.  Something  in  me  says  one  thing, 


DIFFICULTIES.  219 

and  something  else  in  me  cries  out  against  it.  Mrs. 
Jersey,  the  Bible  says,  '  Honour  thy  father  and  thy 
mother.'" 

"Yes,  and  it  says,  'Children,  obey  your  parents.' 
But  the  next  words  that  come  after,  are — 'in  the 
Lord:" 

"How  is  that?" 

"  So  as  you  can  without  failing  in  your  duty  to 
him." 

"  Can  duties  clash  ?  " 

"No,"  said  the  housekeeper  smiling;  "for,  as  you 
said,  '  the  first  comes  first.'  " 

"  I  do  not  understand,"  said  Dolly.  "  It  is  my 
duty  to  obey  his  word;  and  his  word  says,  obey 
them." 

"  Only  not  when  their  command  or  wish  goes 
against  his." 

"Well,  how  would  this?"  said  Dolly.  "Suppose 
they  wish  me  to  marry  somebody,  and  my  doing 
so  would  be  very  good  for  them  ?  The  Bible  says, 
'  Love  seeks  not  her  own.' " 

"  Most  true,"  said  the  housekeeper,  watching  the 
tears  that  suddenly  stood  in  Dolly's  bright  eyes. 
"  But  it  says  some  other  things." 

"  What,  Mrs.  Jersey  ?  Do  make  it  clear  to  me 
if  you  can.  I  am  all  in  a  muddle." 

"  My  dear,  I  am  not  a  very  good  hand  to  explain 
what  I  mean.  But  do  you  not  think  you  owe  it 
both  to  yourself  and  to  God,  not  to  do  what  would 
blast  your  life  ?  you  cannot  serve  him  so  well  with 
a  blasted  life." 


220  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  said  Dolly,  speaking  slowly, 
"  I  have  a  right  to  give  up  my  own  happiness.  I 
do  not  see  the  wrong  of  it." 

"In  anything  else,"  said  the  housekeeper.  "In 
anything  else,  my  dear ;  only  not  in  marriage !  My 
dear,  it  is  not  simply  giving  up  one's  happiness;  it 
is  a  long  torture !  No,  you  owe  it  to  yourself;  for 
in  that  way  you  could  never  grow  to  be  what  you 
might  be.  My  dear,  I  have  seen  it  tried.  I  have 
known  a  woman  who  married  so,  thinking  that  it 
would  not  matter  so  much;  she  fulfilled  life's  du- 
ties nobly,  she  was  a  good  wife  and  mother  and 
friend ;  but  when  I  asked  her  once,  after  she  had 
told  me  her  story,  how  life  had  been  to  her? — I 
shall  never  forget  how  she  turned  to  me  and  said, 
'  It  has  been  a  hell  upon  earth ! '  Miss  Dolly,  no 
good  father  and  mother  would  buy  anything  at  such 
a  price;  and  no  man  that  really  loved  a  woman 
would  have  her  at  such  a  price ;  and  so,  if  you  fol- 
low the  rule,  'Whatsoever  ye  would  that  men 
should  do  to  you,  do  ye  even  so  to  them' — you 
will  never  marry  in  that  way." 

There  was  a  little  silence,  and  then  Dolly  said  in 
an  entirely  changed  tone,  "You  have  cleared  up 
the  mist,  Mrs.  Jersey." 

"  Then  there  is  another  thing,"  the  housekeeper 
went  on.  She  heard  the  change  in  Dolly's  voice, 
out  of  which  the  anxiety  had  suddenly  vanished, 
but  she  was  willing  to  make  assurance  doubly  sure. 
"  Did  you  ever  think  what  a  woman  owes  to  the 
man  she  marries  ?  " 


DIFFICULTIES.  221 

"  I  never  thought  about  it,"  said  Dolly.  "  What 
a  man  asks  for,  is  that  she  will  marry  him."  How 
Dolly's  cheeks  flamed  up.  But  she  was  very  seri- 
ous, and  the  housekeeper  if  possible  yet  more  so. 

"  Miss  Dolly,  she  owes  him  the  best  love  of  her 
heart,  after  that  she  gives  to  God." 

"  I  don't  see  how  she  can,"  said  Dolly.  "  I  do 
not  see  how  she  can  love  him  so  well  as  her  father 
and  mother." 

"  He  expects  it  though,  and  has  a  right  to  it. 
And  unless  a  woman  can  give  it,  she  cannot  be  a 
true  wife.  She  makes  a  false  vow  at  the  altar. 
And  unless  she  do  love  him  so,  it  may  easily  hap- 
pen that  she  will  find  somebody  afterwards  that 
she  will  like  better  than  her  husband.  And  then, 
all  is  lost." 

"  After  she  is  married  ?  "  said  Dolly. 

"  Perhaps  after  she  has  been  married  for  years. 
If  she  has  not  married  the  right  man,  she  may  find 
him  when  she  cannot  marry  him." 

"  But  that  is  dreadful !  "  cried  Dolly. 

"  The  world  is  a  pretty  mixed-up  place,"  said  the 
housekeeper.  "I  want  your  way  to  be  straight 
and  clear,  Miss  Dolly." 

There  was  a  pause  again,  at  the  end  of  which 
Dolly  repeated,  "  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Jersey.  You 
have  cleared  up  the  mist  for  me." 

"I  hear  it  in  your  voice,"  said  her  friend  smiling. 
"  It  has  got  its  clear  sweet  ring  again.  Is  all  the 
trouble  disposed  of?" 

"Oh  no !"  said  Dolly,  a  shadow  crossing  her  face 


222  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

anew;  "but  I  am  relieved  of  one  great  perplexity. 
That  was  not  all  my  trouble; — I  cannot  tell  you 
all  I  wish  I  could !  One  thing, — I  want  to  see 
my  father  dreadfully,  to  talk  to  him  about  mother's 
going  travelling;  and  I  cannot  get  sight  of  him. 
He  stays  in  London.  And  time  is  flying." 

"  Write — "  said  the  housekeeper. 

"01  have  written.  And  I  have  sent  messages. 
I  would  go  up  to  London  myself — but  I  cannot  go 
alone." 

"  Miss  Dolly,"  said  the  housekeeper  after  a  min- 
ute's thought,  "  perhaps  I  can  help  here  too.  I 
have  to  go  up  to  London  for  a  few  days,  and  was 
thinking  to  go  next  week.  If  you  will  trust  your- 
self to  me,  I  will  take  you,  and  take  care  of  you." 

Dolly  was  overjoyed  at  this  suggestion.  A  lit- 
tle more  conversation  to  settle  preliminaries  and 
particulars,  and  Dolly  set  off  on  her  way  home 
with  a  much  lightened  heart. 

"  Ah  me !  "  thought  the  housekeeper  as  she  stood 
at  the  door  looking  after  her,  "how  hard  we  do 
make  it  for  each  other  in  this  world !  " 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  CONSUL'S  OFFICE. 

T3EFORE  Dolly  had  reached  home  she  was  joined 
-D  by  Mr.  St.  Leger.  He  was  still  in  the  park. 

"  Have  you  been  for  a  walk  ?  "  said  he  in  aston- 
ished fashion. 

"  I  suppose  that  would  be  a  natural  conclusion," 
said  Dolly.  She  spoke  easily;  it  rejoiced  her  to 
find  how  easily  she  could  now  meet  Mr.  St.  Leger. 
Yet  the  game  was  not  all  played  out,  either. 

"  Why  didn't  you  let  me  know,  that  I  might 
go  along?  "  he  went  on. 

"That  was  not  in  my  purpose,"  rejoined  Dolly 
lightly. 

"  That  is  very  unkind,  Dolly." 

"  Truth  is  never  unkind." 

"Yes  indeed,  it  may  be;  it  is  now." 

"  Would  you  like  falsehood  better  ?  " 

"You  need  not  be  false." 

"  I  must  be  either  false  or  true,  must  I  not  ? 
Which  would  you  rather  have,  Mr.  St.  Leger  ?  " 

"It  would  be  no  good,  my  choosing,"  said  he 
with  a  half  laugh;  "for  you  would  never  give  me 
anything  but  absolute  truth,  I  know.  I  believe 


224  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

that  is  one  of  your  attractions,  Dolly.  All  other 
girls  put  on  something,  and  a  fellow  never  can  tell 
what  he  is  served  to,  the  dish  is  spiced  so  cleverly. 
But  you  are  like  a  piece  of  game,  with  no  flavour 
but  your  own ;  and  that  is  wild  enough,  and  rare 
enough  too." 

"Mr.  St.  Leger,"  said  Dolly  gravely,  "you  ought 
to  study  rhetoric.'' 

"  Have.     Why  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  that  last  speech  was  rather  mixed 
up." 

"Look  here, — I  wish  you'd  call  me  Lawrence. 
We  know  each  other  quite  well  enough." 

"  Is  that  the  custom  in  your  country  ?  " 

"  It  is  going  to  be  your  country,  as  well.  You 
need  not  speak  in  that  fashion." 

"  I  am  thinking  of  leaving  the  country,"  Dolly 
went  on  unconcernedly.  "Mother  is  longing  to 
travel;  and  I  am  going  to  bring  it  about." 

"  I  have  tried  Mr.  Copley  on  that  subject,  I  as- 
sure you." 

"  I  shall  try  now,  and  do  it." 

"Think  so?  Then  we  will  consult  about  plans 
and  routes  again  this  evening.  Mrs.  Copley  likes 
that  almost  as  well  as  the  thing  itself.  For  Dolly, 
you  cannot  get  along  without  me." 

Which  assertion  Dolly  left  uncontroverted. 

A  few  days  after  Lawrence  had  gone  back  to 
town  was  the  time  for  Mrs.  Jersey's  journey. 
Dolly  told  her  mother  her  plan ;  and  after  a  deal  of 
doubts  and  fears  and  arguings  on  Mrs.  Copley's 


THE  CONSUL'S  OFFICE.  225 

part,  it  was  finally  agreed  to.  It  seemed  the  hope- 
fullest  thing  to  do;  and  Mrs.  Copley  could  be  left 
well  enough  with  the  servants  for  a  few  days.  So 
early  one  morning  Mrs.  Jersey  called  for  her,  and 
Dolly  with  a  beating  heart  kissed  her  mother  and 
went  off. 

Some  business  reasons  occasioned  the  house- 
keeper to  make  the  journey  in  a  little  covered 
carriage  belonging  to  the  house,  instead  of  taking 
the  public  post  coach.  It  was  all  the  pleasanter 
for  Dolly,  being  entirely  private  and  quiet ;  though 
the  time  consumed  was  longer.  They  were  then 
in  the  end  of  summer;  the  weather  was  delicious 
and  warm ;  the  country  rich  in  flowers  and  grain 
fields  and  ripening  i'ruit.  Dolly  at  first  was  full  of 
delight,  the  change  anc^  the  novelty  were  BO  wel- 
come, and  the  country  through  which  they  drove 
was  so  exceeding  lovely.  Nevertheless,  as  the 
day  went  by  there  began  to  creep  over  her  a 
strange  feeling  of  loneliness;  a  feeling  of  being 
out  on  the  journey  of  life  all  by  herself  and  left 
to  her  own  skill  and  resources.  It  was  not  the 
journey  to  London ;  for  that  she  was  well  accom- 
panied and  provided;  it  was  the  real  undertaking 
upon  which  she  had  set  out,  the  goal  of  which 
was  not  London  but — her  father.  To  find  her 
father  not  only,  but  to  keep  him;  to  prevent  his 
being  lost  to  himself,  lost  to  her  mother,  to  life, 
and  to  her.  Could  she?  Or  was  she  embarked 
on  an  enterprize  beyond  her  strength?  A  weak 
girl ;  what  was  she,  to  do  so  much !  It  grew  and 
15 


226  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

pressed  upon  her,  this  feeling  of  being  alone  and 
busy  with  a  work  too  great  for  her;  till  gradually 
the  lovely  country,  through  which  she  was  passing 
ceased  to  be  lovely ;  it  might  have  been  a  wilder- 
ness, for  all  its  cheer  or  promise  to  her.  Dolly 
had  talked  at  first,  in  simple,  gleeful,  girlish  pleas- 
ure; little  by  little  her  words  grew  fewer,  her  eye 
lost  its  glad  life;  until  she  sat  back,  withdrawn 
into  herself,  and  spoke  no  more  unless  spoken  to. 

The  housekeeper  noticed  the  change,  saw  and 
read  the  abstracted,  thoughtful  look  that  had  tak- 
en place  of  the  gay,  interested  delight  of  the  morn- 
ing. She  perceived  that  Dolly  had  serious  work 
on  hand,  of  some  sort;  and  she  longed  to  help  her. 
For  the  fair,  sweet,  womanly  thoughtfulness  was 
as  lofty  and  lovely  in  its  way,  as  the  childlike 
simplicity  of  enjoyment  before  had  been  bewitch- 
ing. She  was  glad  when  the  day's  ride  came  to 
an  end. 

The  stoppage  was  made  at  a  little  wayside  inn ; 
a  low  building  of  grey  stone,  overgrown  with  ivy 
and  climbing  roses,  with  a  neatly  kept  bit  of  grass 
in  front.  Here  Dolly's  interest  and  delight  awoke 
'  again.  This  was  something  unlike  all  she  had  ever 
seen.  Simple  and  plain  enough  the  inn  was;  stone 
flooring  and  wooden  furniture  of  heavy  and  an- 
cient pattern  made  it  that;  but  at  the  same  time  it 
was  substantial,  comfortable,  neat  as  wax,  and  with 
a  certain  air  of  well-to-do  thrift  which  was  very 
pleasant.  Mrs.  Jersey  was  known  here  and  warmly 
received.  The  travellers  were  shewn  into  a  cosy 


THE  CONSUL'S  OFFICE.  227 

little  room,  brown  wainscoted,  and  with  a  great 
jar  of  flowers  in  the  chimney ;  and  here  the  cloth 
was  immediately  laid  for  their  dinner,  or  supper. 
For  the  supper  itself  they  had  to  wait  a  little;  and 
after  putting  off  her  bonnet  and  refreshing  herself 
in  an  inner  room,  Dolly  sat  down  by  one  of  the 
small  windows.  The  day  was  declining.  Slant 
sunbeams  shot  across  a  wide  plain  and  threw  long 
shadows  from  the  trees.  The  trees,  especially  those 
overhanging  the  inn,  were  old  and  large  and  fine; 
the  lights  and  shadows  were  moveless,  calm,  peace- 
ful; one  or  two  neighbouring  fields  were  stocked 
with  beautiful  cattle;  and  a  flock  of  geese  went 
waddling  along  over  the  green.  It  was  removed 
from  all  the  scenes  of  Dolly's  experience;  as  unlike 
them  as  her  being  there  alone  was  unlike  the  rest 
of  her  life ;  in  the  strangeness  there  was  this  time 
an  element  of  relief. 

"  How  beautiful  the  world  is,  Mrs.  Jersey !  "  she 
remarked. 

"  You  find  it  so  here  ?  "  answered  her  friend. 

"  Why  yes,  I  do.     Don't  you  ?  " 

"I  suppose  I  am  spoiled,  Miss  Dolly,  by  being 
accustomed  to  Brierley." 

"  O  this  is  not  Brierley !  but  I  am  not  comparing 
them.  This  is  very  pretty,  Mrs.  Jersey !  Why 
Mrs.  Jersey,  you  don't  despise  a  daisy  because  it 
isn't  a  rose  !  " 

"No,"  said  her  friend;  "but  I  suppose  I  cannot 
see  the  daisy  when  the  rose  is  by."  She  was  look- 
ing at  Dolly. 


228  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"Well,"  said  Dolly,  "the  rose  is  not  by;  and  I 
like  this  very  much.  What  a  neat  house!  and 
what  a  pleasant  sort  of  comfort  there  is  about 
everything.  I  would  not  have  missed  this,  Mrs. 
Jersey,  for  a  good  deal." 

"I  am  glad,  Miss  Dolly.  I  was  thinking  you 
were  not  taking  much  good  of  your  day's  ride — 
the  latter  part." 

Dolly  was  silent,  looking  out  now  somewhat  so- 
berly upon  the  smiling  scene;  then  she  jumped 
up  and  threw  off  her  gravity,  and  came  to  the  sup- 
per table.  It  was  spread  with  exquisite  neatness, 
and  appetizing  nicety.  Dolly  found  herself  hun- 
gry. If  but  her  errand  to  London  had  been  of  a 
less  serious  and  critical  character,  she  could  have 
greatly  enjoyed  the  adventure  and  its  picturesque 
circumstances.  With  the  elastic  strength  of  seven- 
teen however,  she  did  enjoy  it,  even  so. 

"  How  good  you  are  to  me,  Mrs.  Jersey ! "  she 
said,  after  the  table  was  cleared  and  the  two  were 
sitting  in  the  falling  twilight.  The  still  peace 
outside  and  inside  the  house  had  found  its  way 
to  Dolly's  heart.  There  was  the  brooding  hush 
of  the  summer  evening,  marked,  not  broken,  by 
sounds  of  insects  or  lowing  of  cattle  and  the  voices 
of  farm  servants  attending  to  their  work.  It  was 
yet  bright  outside,  though  the  sun  had  long  gone 
down;  inside  the  house  shades  were  gathering. 

"I  wish  I  could  be  good  to  you,  Miss  Dolly," 
was  the  housekeeper's  answer. 

"0  you  are !  I  do  not  know  what  in  the  world  I 


THE  CONSUL'S  OFFICE.  229 

should  have  done,  if  you  had  not  let  me  go  with 
you  to  London  now." 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you  when  we  get  there  ?  " 

"  0  nothing  !  thank  you." 

"You  know  exactly  where  to  go  and  what  to 
do?" 

"  I  shall  take  a  cab  and  go — let  me  see, — yes,  to 
father's  rooms.  If  I  do  not  find  him  there,  I  must 
go  to  his  office." 

"  In  the  city  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Will  that  be  very  far  from  your  house  ? 
Why  yes,  of  course ;  we  shall  be  at  the  West  End. 
Well,  all  the  same,  near  or  far,  I  must  see  my 
father." 

"  You  must  be  so  good  as  to  let  me  go  in  the 
cab  with  you,"  said  Mrs.  Jersey.  "  I  cannot  let 
you  drive  all  about  London  alone  by  yourself." 

"  0  thank  you ! "  said  Dolly  again,  with  an  un- 
doubted accent  of  relief.  "  But —  " 

That  sentence  remained  unfinished.  Dolly  med- 
itated. So  did  the  housekeeper.  She  was  wise 
enough  to  see  that  all  was  not  exactly  clear  and 
fair  in  her  young  friend's  path ;  of  what  nature  the 
trouble  might  be  she  could  only  surmise. 

"  What  if  Mr.  Copley  should  not  be  in  London  ?  " 
she  ventured. 

"  0  he  must  be.  At  least  he  was  there  a  very 
few  days  ago.  He  never  is  away  from  London, 
except  when  he  goes  to  visit  somewhere." 

"It  is  coming  towards  the  time  now  when  the 
gentlemen  go  down  into  the  country  to  shoot." 


230  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  Father  does  not  care  for  shooting.  I  mean  to  get 
him  to  go  to  Venice  instead,  with  mother  and  me." 

"  Suppose  you  should  fail  in  that  plan,  Miss  Dol- 
ly ?  is  your  business  done  then  ?  " 

"  No.  O  no !  "  said  Dolly,  for  a  moment  cover- 
ing her  face  with  her  hands.  "  0  Mrs.  Jersey,  if  I 
could  not  manage  that,  1  do  not  know  what  I  should 
do !  "  Dolly's  voice  had  a  premonition  of  despair. 
"  But  I  guess  I  can  do  it,"  she  added  with  a  re- 
sumption of  cheerfulness.  And  she  talked  on  from 
that  time  merrily  of  other  things. 

When  they  arrived  in  London  next  day,  it  was 
already  too  late  for  Dolly  to  do  anything.  She 
was  fain  to  let  Mrs.  Jersey  lodge  her  and  feast  her 
and  pet  her  to  her  heart's  content.  She  was  put 
in  a  pretty  room  in  the  great  house ;  she  was  enter- 
tained royally,  as  far  as  the  viands  went;  and  in 
every  imaginable  way  the  housekeeper  was  care- 
fully kind.  Well  for  Dolly;  who  needed  all  the 
help  of  kindness  and  care.  The  whole  long  day 
she  had  been  brooding  on  what  she  had  to  do,  and 
trying  to  imagine  how  things  would  be.  Without 
data,  that  is  a  specially  wearisome  occupation;  in- 
asmuch as  one  may  imagine  anything,  and  there 
is  nothing  to  contradict  the  most  extravagant  spec- 
ulations. Dolly's  head  and  heart  were  tired  by 
the  time  night  came,  and  her  nerves  in  an  excited 
condition,  to  which  Mrs.  Jersey's  ministrations  and 
the  interest  of  the  place  gave  a  welcome  relief. 
Dolly  tried  to  put  off  thought.  But  everything 
pressed  upon  her,  now  that  she  was  so  near  seeing 


THE  CONSUL'S  OFFICE.  231 

her  father;  and  seventeen-years-old  felt  as  if  it  had 
a  great  load  on  its  young  shoulders. 

"Mrs.  Jersey,"  she  began,  after  supper,  "you  are 
quite  sure  that  it  is  never  right  for  a  girl  to  sacri- 
fice herself  for  the  sake  of  benefiting  her  parents?" 

"In  the  way  of  marrying  a  man  she  does  not 
love?  Miss  Dolly,  a  Christian  man  would  never 
have  a  young  lady  marry  him  on  those  terms." 

"  Suppose  he  is  not  a  Christian  man  ?  " 

"Then  he  may  be  selfish  enough  to  do  it.  But 
in  that  case,  Miss  Dolly,  a  Christian  woman  can 
have  nothing  to  say  to  him." 

"Why  not?  She  might  bring  him  to  be  Chris- 
tian, you  know." 

"  That  isn't  the  Lord's  way,  Miss  Dolly." 

"  What  is  his  way,  then?" 

"You  will  find  it  in  the  sixth  chapter  of  II  Cor- 
inthians. '  Be  not  unequally  yoked  together  with 
unbelievers.' " 

"  But  that  means — " 

"  It  says — Miss  Dolly ;  it  says, — do  not  be  yoked 
up  with  one  who  is  not  following  the  Lord ;  neither 
in  marriage,  nor  in  business.  Two  oxen  in  a  yoke, 
Miss  Dolly,  have  to  pull  the  same  way;  and  if 
they  don't  want  to,  the  weakest  must  go  with  the 
strongest." 

"  But  might  riot  the  Christian  one  be  the  strong- 
est?" 

"His  disobeying  the  Lord's  command  just  shews 
he  isn't  that." 

Dolly  let  the  subject  drop.     She  took  a  little 


232  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

cushion  and  sat  down  by  her  friend's  side  and  laid 
her  head  in  her  lap;  and  they  sat  so  a  while,  Mrs. 
Jersey  looking  fondly  down  upon  the  very  lovely 
bright  head  on  her  knees,  and  marvelling  sorrow- 
fully at  the  fathers  and  mothers  who  prepare 
trouble  for  such  tender  and  delicate  creatures  as 
their  young  daughters. 

The  next  morning  she  admired  her  charge  under 
a  new  view  of  her.  Dolly  appeared  at  breakfast 
with  a  calm,  measured  manner,  which,  if  it  were  iu 
part  the  effect  of  great  pressure  upon  her  spirits, 
had  at  the  same  time  the  grace  of  a  very  finished 
breeding.  Mrs.  Jersey  looked  and  admired,  and 
wondered  too.  How  had  the  little  American  got 
this  air  ?  She  could  not  put  it  on  herself;  but  she 
had  seen  her  mistresses  in  the  great  world  wear  it ; 
a  certain  unconscious,  disengaged  dignity  which 
sat  marvellously  well  upon  the  gracious  softness 
and  young  beauty  of  this  little  girl. 

The  breakfast  was  rather  silent.  The  drive, 
which  they  entered  upon  immediately  after,  was 
almost  wholly  so.  Mrs.  Jersey,  true  to  her  prom- 
ise, let  her  own  affairs  wait,  and  accompanied  her 
young  friend.  Dolly  had  changed  her  plan,  and 
went  now  first  to  Mr.  Copley's  office  in  the  city. 
It  was  the  hour  when  he  should  be  there,  and  to 
go  to  his  lodging  would  have  taken  them  out  of 
the  way.  So  they  drove  the  long  miles  from 
Grosvenor  Square  to  the  American  consul's  office. 
Dolly's  mood  was  eager  and  hopeful  now;  yet  with 
too  much  pressure  to  allow  of  her  talking. 


THE  CONSUL'S  OFFICE.  233 

The  cab  stopped  opposite  the  entrance  of  a  nar- 
row covered  way  between  two  walls  of  houses. 
Following  this  narrow  passage,  Mrs.  Jersey  and 
Dolly  emerged  into  a  little  court,  very  small,  on 
one  side  of  which  two  or  three  steps  led  to  the 
American  consul's  offices.  The  first  one  they  en- 
tered was  full  of  people,  waiting  to  see  the  consul 
or  parleying  with  one  or  another  of  the  clerks. 
Dolly  left  Mrs.  Jersey  there  to  wait  for.  her,  and 
herself  went  on  into  the  inner  room,  her  father's 
special  private  office.  In  those  days  the  office  of 
American  consul  was  of  far  more  importance  and 
dignity  than  to-day;  and  this  room  was  a  tolerably 
comfortable  one  and  respectably  furnished. 

Here  however  her  father  was  not;  and  it  imme- 
diately struck  Dolly  that  he  had  not  been  there 
very  lately.  How  she  gathered  this  impression  is 
less  easy  to  tell,  for  she  could  hardly  be  said  to  see 
distinctly  any  one  of  the  characters  in  Avhich  the 
fact  was  written.  She  did  not  know  that  dust  lay 
thick  on  his  writing  table,  and  that  even  the  pa- 
pers piled  there  were  brown  with  it;  she  did  not 
know  that  the  windows  were  fastened  down  this 
warm  day,  nor  that  an  arm  chair  which  usually 
stood  there  for  the  accommodation  of  visiters  was 
gone,  having  been  slipped  into  the  outer  office  by 
an  ease-loving  clerk.  It  was  a  general  air  of  for- 
sakenness, visible  in  these  and  in  yet  slighter 
signs,  which  struck  Dolly's  sense.  She  stood  a 
moment,  bewildered,  hoping  against  sense,  as  it 
were;  then  turned  about.  As  she  turned  she  was 


234  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

met  by  a  young  man  who  had  followed  her  in 
from  the  outer  office.  Dolly  faced  him. 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Copley  ?  " 

"He  ain't  here."  The  Yankee  accents  of  home 
were  unmistakeable. 

"  I  see  he  is  not  here ;  but  where  is  he  ?  " 

"  Couldn't  say,  reelly.  'Spect  he's  to  his  place. 
We  don't  ginerally  expect  ladies  at  this  time  o' 
day,  or  I  guess  he'd  ha'  ben  on  hand."  The  clerk 
grinned  at  Dolly's  beauty,  the  like  of  which  to  be 
sure  was  not  often  seen  anywhere  at  that,  or  any 
other,  time  of  day. 

"  When  was  Mr.  Copley  here,  sir  ?  " 

"  Couldn't  say.  Tairi't  very  long,  nother.  Was 
you  wantin'  to  see  him  on  an  a'pintment?  " 

"  No.  I  am  Miss  Copley.  Where  can  I  find  my 
father  ?  Please  tell  me  as  quick  as  you  can." 

"  Sartain — ef  I  kiiowed  it.  Now  I  wisht  I  did  ! 
Mr.  Copley,  he  comes  and  he  goes,  and  he  don't 
tell  me  which  way;  and  there  it  is,  you  see." 

"Where  is  Mr.  St.  Leger?" 

"  Mr.  Silliger  ?  Don't  know  the  gentleman. 
Likely  Mr.  Copley  doos.  But  he  ain't  here  to  say. 
Mebbe  it  ud  be  a  good  plan  to  make  a  note  of 
it.  That's  what  Mr.  Copley  allays  says ;  '  make  a 
note  of  it.' " 

"You  do  not  know,  sir,  perhaps,  whether  Mr. 
Copley  is  in  London  ?  " 

"  He  was  in  London — 'taint  very  long  ago,  for 
he  was  in  this  here  office,  and  I  see  him ;  but  that 
warn't  yesterday,  and  it  warn't  the  day  before. 


THE  CONSUL'S  OFFICE.  235 

Where  he's  betaken  himself  between  whiles,  ain't 
known  to  mo.  Shall  I  make  a  note,  miss  ?  against 
he  comes  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Dolly  turning  away ;  "  no  need.  And 
no  use." 

She  rejoined  Mrs.  Jersey  and  they  went  back  to 
the  carriage. 

"He  is  not  there,"  she  said  excitedly;  "and  he 
has  not  been  there  for  several  days.  We  must  go 
to  his  lodgings — all  the  way  back  almost !  " 

"  Never  mind,"  said  the  housekeeper.  "We  have 
the  day  before  us." 

"  It  is  almost  twelve,"  said  Dolly,  looking  at  her 
watch.  "  Before  we  get  there  it  will  be  one.  I 
am  a  great  deal  of  trouble  to  you,  I  fear,  Mrs.  Jer- 
sey; more  than  I  meant  to  be." 

"  My  dear,  it's  no  trouble.  I  am  happy  to  be  of 
any  use  to  you.  What  sort  of  a  chain  is  that  you 
wear,  Miss  Dolly  ?  " 

"Curious  isn't  it?"  said  Dolly.  "It  was  given 
me  long  ago.  It  is  woven  of  threads  of  a  ship 
cable." 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  chain,"  said  her  friend,  ex- 
amining it  admiringly.  "  But  that  is  very  clever, 
Miss  Dolly !  I  should  never  fancy  it  was  a  piece 
of  cable.  Is  there  an  anchor  anywhere  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Dolly  laughing.  "  Though  I  am  not 
sure,"  she  added  thoughtfully.  "  My  memory  goes 
back  along  this  chain  a  great  way; — back  to  the 
time  when  I  was  a  little  girl,  quite  little,  and  very 
happy  at  school  and  with  a  dear  aunt,  whom  I 


236  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

lived  with  then.  And  back  there  at  the  end  of 
the  chain  are  all  those  pleasant  images;  and  one 
most  beautiful  day,  when  we  went  to  visit  a  ship ; 
a  great  man  of  war.  A  most  beautiful  day !  "  Dol- 
ly repeated  with  the  accent  of  loving  recollection. 

"And  you  brought  back  a  piece  of  cable  from 
the  ship,  and  braided  this?" 

"  No,  O  no !  I  did  not  do  it ;  I  could  not.  It 
was  done  for  me." 

"  By  a  friend's  fingers." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  you  may  say  so,"  said  Dolly; 
"though  it  is  a  friend  I  have  never  seen  since 
then.  I  suppose  I  never  shall.  But  I  always  wear 
the  chain.  O  how  long  that  seems  ago  ! — Is  child- 
hood the  happiest  time  of  a  person's  life,  Mrs. 
Jersey  ?  " 

"  Maybe  I  might  say  yes.  Miss  Dolly ;  but  if  I 
did,  I  should  mean,  not  what  you  mean.  I  should 
mean  the  little-child  life  that  one  can  have  when 
one  is  old.  When  the  heart  says,  'Not  my  will, 
but  thine' — when  it  says,  'Speak,  Lord,  for  thy 
servant  heareth.'  You  know,  the  Master  said, 
'  Except  ye  become  as  little  children,  ye  shall  not 
enter  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven.'" 

"I  don't  believe  I  am  just  as  much  of  a  child, 
then,  as  I  used  to  be,"  remarked  Dolly. 

"  Get  back  to  it,  my  dear,  as  fast  as  you  can." 

"  But  when  one  isrit  a  child,  things  are  so  differ- 
ent. It  is  easy  to  trust  and  give  up,  for  a  child's 
things;  but  when  one  is  a  woman — " 

"  It  is  just  the   same,    dear   Miss   Dolly !     Our 


THE  CONSUL'S  OFFICE.  237 

great  affairs,  they  are  but  child's  matters  to  the 
Lord's  eyes.  The  difference  is  in  ourselves — when 
our  hearts  get  proud,  and  our  self-will  gets  up." 

"  I  wish  I  could  be  like  a  child  now,"  said  Dolly 
from  the  depths  of  her  heart.  "  I  feel  as  if  I  were 
carrying  the  whole  family  on  my  shoulders,  and  as 
if  I  must  do  it." 

"  You  cannot,  my  dear !  Your  shoulders  will 
break.  'Casting  your  care  upon  him,'  the  Bible 
says, — 'for  he  careth  for  you.'" 

"One  does  not  see  him — "  said  Dolly  with  her 
eyes  very  full. 

"Faith  can  see,"  the  housekeeper  returned;  and 
then  there  was  a  long  silence ;  while  the  carriage 
rattled  along  over  the  streets,  and  threaded  its 
way  through  the  throng  of  business,  or  bread- 
seekers  or  pleasure-seekers.  So  many  people ! 
Dolly  wondered  if  every  one  of  them  carried  his 
secret  burden  of  care,  as  she  was  doing;  and  if 
they  were,  she  wondered  how  the  world  lived  on 
and  bore  the  multitudinous  strain.  O  to  be  a 
child,  in  the  full,  blessed  sense  of  the  term ! 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A   FIGHT. 

THE  cab  stopped,  and  Dolly's  heart  gave  a  great 
thump  against  her  ribs.  What  was  she  afraid 
of? 

Mrs.  Jersey  said  she  would  wait  in  the  cab,  and 
Dolly  applied  herself  to  the  door  knocker.  A  ser- 
vant came,  a  stupid  one  seemingly. 

"  Is  Mr.  Copley  at  home  ?  " 

"  I  dunno." 

"  Will  you  find  out,  please." 

"Jemima,  who's  that?"  called  a  voice  of  author- 
ity from  behind  the  scenes. 

"  Somebody  arter  the  gentleman,  mum.  I  dunno, 
is  he  in  his  room." 

The  owner  of  the  voice  came  forward;  a  portly, 
respectable  landlady.  She  surveyed  Dolly,  glanced 
at  the  cab,  became  very  civil,  invited  Dolly  in,  and 
sent  the  maid  upstairs  to  make  inquiries,  declaring 
she  did  not  know  herself  whether  the  gentleman 
were  out  or  in.  Dolly  would  not  sit  down.  The 
girl  brought  down  word  that  Mr.  Copley  was  not 
out  of  his  bedroom  yet. 

"  I  went  in  the  parlour,  mum,  and  knocked,  mum ; 
and  1  might  as  well  ha'  axed  my  broom,  mum." 

"I'll  go  up,"  said  Dolly  hastily;  and  waiting  for 


A  FIGHT.  239 

no  answer,  she  brushed  past  landlady  and  maid 
and  ran  up  the  stairs.  Then  paused. 

"  Which  rooms ?  on  the  first  floor?  " 

The  woman  of  the  house  came  bustling  after  her 
up  the  stairs  and  opened  the  door  of  a  sitting  room. 
It  was  very  comfortably  furnished. 

"You  couldn't  go  wrong,  ma'am,"  she  said  civilly 
— "  I  'ave  no  one  in  my  rooms  at  this  present,  ex- 
cept Mr.  Copley.  I  suppose  you  are  his  daughter, 
ma'am  ?  " 

"  His  daughter — "  Dolly  repeated,  standing  still 
and  facing  the  landlady,  and  keeping  down  all  out- 
ward expression  of  the  excitement  which  was  con- 
suming her.  She  knew  she  kept  it  down ;  she  faced 
the  woman  steadily  and  calmly,  and  the  landlady 
was  more  and  more  humbly  civil. — "Mr.  Copley  is 
not  ill  ?  "  Dolly  went  on. 

" 0  dear  no,  ma'am !  not  to  call  Jiitt.  Mr.  Cop- 
ley is  in  enjoyment  of  very  good  'ealth;  as  I  'ave 
occasion  to  know,  ma'am,  who  cooks  his  meals  for 
him.  I  can  allers  tell  by  that.  When  a  gentle- 
man, or  a  lady,  'as  good  taste  for  their  victuals,  I 
think  it's  no  'arm  if  they  sleeps  a  little  long  in  the 
morning;  it's  a  trifle  onconvenient  to  the  'ouse,  it 
may  be,  when  things  is  standing  roun' — but  it's 
good  for  theirselves,  no  doubt,  and  satisfying  and 
they'll  be  ready  for  their  breakfast  w,hen  they  comes 
li'out.  And  shall  I  wake  Mr.  Copley  for  you,  ma'am  ? 
It's  time  for  him,  to  be  sure." 

"  Thank  you,  no ;  you  need  not  do  anything.  I 
will  sit  here  and  wait  a  little." 


240  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"And  Mr.  Copley's  coffee'll  be  ready  for  him, 
ma'am,  when  he's  ready  for  h'it.  Mr.  Copley,  he 
sets  a  good  deal  by  his  coffee,  and  likes  it  made 
particular,  and  he  gets  it  made  particular.  Didn't 
Mr.  Copley  tell  you,  ma'am,  as  his  coffee  was  sat- 
isfactory ?  " 

"  I  dare  say  it  is,"  said  Dolly;  "and  I  will  ring  for 
it  when  my  father  wants  it.  You  may  leave  me; 
I  will  wait  here." 

The  landlady  had  been  going  round  the  room, 
picking  up  a  bit  of  paper  here  and  wiping  her  apron 
over  a  table  there,  the  while  taking  a  careful  view 
of  Dolly  and  examining  her  all  over.  Dolly's  fig- 
ure and  manner  were  irreproachable ;  and  with  re- 
newed proffers  of  service,  the  woman  at  last,  hav- 
ing no  choice,  left  the  room.  Dolly  stood  still  a 
moment  then,  collecting  herself  and  looking  at  the 
situation.  Past  one  o'clock,  and  her  father  not  out 
of  his  room.  That  was  not  like  any  of  his  habits, 
as  she  knew  them ;  and  Dolly  stood  with  the  shad- 
ow of  a  nameless  fear  falling  across  her  spirit. 
Nameless,  and  formless;  she  did  not  discern  it 
clearly  or  attempt  to  examine  it;  the  mere  shad- 
ow of  it  chilled  her  to  the  bone.  She  stood  think- 
ing, and  trembling.  Not  at  his  office  for  several 
days,  though  business  must  be  calling  for  him ;  not 
out  of  his  room  at  one  o'clock  in  the  afternoon, 
though  all  his  old  simple  home  habits  were  op- 
posed to  such  a  waste  of  daylight.  Should  she 
try  to  arouse  him  ?  Dolly  did  try,  after  a  little 
while ;  for  she  could  not  bear  the  still  waiting ;  she 


A  FIGHT.  241 

knocked  at  the  inner  door ;  but  she  got  no  response. 
Then  she  went  down  to  Mrs.  Jersey  at  the  cab,  and 
told  her  the  state  of  the  case,  begging  her  to  go 
away  and  not  wait  any  longer.  She  must  wait, 
and  it  was  impossible  to  say  how  long. 

"Miss  Dolly,  does  your  father  often  rise  so  late?" 

"  They  say  so.  Pie  never  used,  but  it  seems  he 
does  now." 

"  It's  the  way  with  a  many,"  said  the  house- 
keeper. "Never  mind  me,  my  dear.  I'll  wait  here, 
or  if  I  get  tired  of  that,  I  will  come  in  and  sit  with 
the  landlady.  I  shall  not  leave  you." 

Inwardly  thankful,  Dolly  went  back  to  her  post 
and  sat  down  and  looked  around  her.  She  could 
tell  nothing  by  the  room  or  its  contents.  Both 
were  nice  enough;  there  was  a  slight  smell  of 
cigars,  that  was  all  to  find  fault  with.  Dolly 
waited.  The  stillness  grew  dreadful.  To  seven- 
teen years  old  the  first  trouble  comes  hard;  albeit 
seventeen  years  old  has  also  a  great  fund  of  spirit 
and  strength  to  meet  and  conquer  trouble.  But 
what  was  the  trouble  here?  It  was  not  the  un- 
usual scantiness  of  means;  that  could  soon  be  made 
right,  if  other  things  were  not  wrong  which 
wrought  to  cause  it.  On  the  other  hand,  if  her 
father  had  fallen  irreparably  into  bad  habits  — 
Dolly  would  not  admit  the  "irreparably"  into  her 
thoughts.  But  it  was  bitter  to  her  that  children 
should  ever  have  to  find  their  parents  in  the  wrong ; 
dreadful  to  have  occasion  to  be  ashamed  of  them. 
She  knew,  if  her  case  proved  such  a  one,  it  would 
16 


242  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

be  only  one  of  a  great  many;  she  had  read  of 
such  things,  although  chiefly  among  another  class 
of  people  who  were  of  coarser  habits  and  duller 
natures,  and  if  they  fell  had  less  distance  to  fall 
to  get  to  the  lowest  level  of  society.  But  her 
father  ! — Dolly  cowered  with  her  head  down  upon 
the  back  of  a  chair,  and  a  cry  in  her  heart  calling 
upon  his  name.  Her  father?  could  she  have  to 
blush  for  him?  All  her  nature  revolted  against 
it;  the  thought  came  over  her  as  a  thick  black 
cloud,  so  thick  that  for  the  moment  light  was 
banished  from  all  her  little  landscape.  0  how  can 
fathers  do  such  things !  and  how  can  daughters 
live  under  them  !  Death  might  be  borne  easier; 
but  disgrace?  Death  would  leave  the  loved  one 
still  her  own;  disgrace  seemed  to  have  a  power  of 
annihilation.  Still,  Dolly  knew  not  that  such  trou- 
ble was  really  come  upon  her;  alas,  she  did  know 
too  well  that  the  fear  of  it  had.  And  what  a 
descent  did  that  alone  imply !  She  raised  her 
head  again,  and  sat  with  dry  eyes  and  a  beating 
heart,  waiting. 

At  last  she  was  sure  she  heard  some  movement 
in  the  inner  room.  She  heard  the  click  of  things 
that  were  moved;  the  fall  of  a  chair  that  was 
knocked  over,  sounds  of  steps.  Finally  the  door 
opened,  and  Mr.  Copley  appeared  on  the  threshold. 
The  sight  of  him  smote  his  daughter.  His  dress 
was  carelessly  thrown  on;  that  was  not  so  very  re- 
markable, for  Mr.  Copley  never  was  an  exact  man 
in  matters  of  the  toilet.  It  was  not  merely  that. 


A  FIGHT.  243 

But  Dolly's  eye  saw  that  his  step  was  unsteady, 
his  face  dull  and  flushed,  and  his  eye  had  a  look 
which  even  a  very  little  experience  understands. 
His  air  was  haggard,  spiritless,  hopeless;  so  unlike 
the  alert,  self-sufficient,  confident  manner  of  old, 
that  Dolly's  heart  got  a  great  wrench.  And  some- 
thing in  the  whole  image  was  so  inexpressibly 
pitiful  to  her,  that  she  did  the  very  last  thing  it 
had  been  in  her  purpose  to  do;  she  fled  to  him 
with  one  bound,  threw  herself  on  his  breast,  and 
burst  into  a  heartbreak  of  tears. 

Poor  Mr.  Copley  was  greatly  startled  and  sorely 
perplexed.  He  had  not  been  prepared  to  see  his 
daughter;  and  though  miserably  conscious  that  he 
offered  ground  enough  himself  for  Dolly's  passion, 
he  could  not  yet  be  sure  that  it  concerned  him. 
It  might  be  wrought  by  some  other  cause;  and  in 
sore  dismay  and  uncertainty  he  was  not  able  to 
bring  out  a  word  of  question.  Dolly  sobbed,  and 
sobbed ;  and  putting  her  arms  up  around  his  neck 
strained  him  in  an  embrace  that  was  most  pitifully 
longing  and  tender.  Mr.  Copley  felt  the  pitiful- 
ness;  he  did  not  know  what  it  meant.  It  was  not 
till  Dolly  had  released  him  and  was  trying  to  dry 
her  eyes  that  he  brought  out  a  question. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  Dolly?" 

Dolly  heard  the  thick  and  lumbering  accent  of 
his  words,  and  burst  forth  in  a  despairing  cry.  "  O 
father,  wha*t  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  , 

"  I'm  all  right,"  said  poor  Mr.  Copley.  "  I'm  all 
right.  What  are  you  here  for  ?  " 


244  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  I  wanted  to  see  you.  Why  did  you  never 
come  down?  You  haven't  been  near  us." 

"I  was  coming — hindered  always — I  was  com- 
ing, Dolly.  How's  your  mother  ?  " 

Dolly  made  a  great  effort  after  voice  and  calmness. 

"  She  is  well — I  mean,  she  is  no  worse  than 
usual.  Will  you  have  your  coffee,  father  ?  " 

But  Dolly's  voice  choked  with  a  sob.  Mr.  Cop- 
ley looked  at  her  in  a  helpless  kind  of  way  and 
made  no  answer.  Dolly  rang  the  bell. 

"  How — a — how  did  you  get  here  ? "  was  the 
next  question,  put  in  evident  embarrassment. 

"You  wouldn't  come  to  Brierley,  father;  so  I 
had  to  come  to  London.  I  came  with  a  friend." 

"  St.  Leger  ?  " 

"  St.  Leger !  No,  indeed.  0  I  came  with  a  very 
nice  friend,  who  took  good  care  of  me.  Now 
here's  your  breakfast." 

Dolly  was  glad  of  the  chance  to  get  upon  com- 
mon everyday  ground,  till  her  breath  should  be 
free  again.  She  helped  arrange  the  dishes;  dis- 
missed the  maid;  poured  out  Mr.  Copley's  coffee 
and  served  him. 

"  Better  take  some  yourself,  Dolly.  Had  your 
breakfast  ?  Let  Mrs.  Bunce  do  you  another  chop." 

Dolly  at  first  said  no;  but  presently  felt  that  she 
was  faint  and  exhausted,  and  agreed  to  the  sug- 
gestion. She  rang  for  another  cup  and  plate,  and 
ordered  the  chop.  Meanwhile  Mr.  Copley  drank 
coffee  and  made  a  poor  hand  of  the  rest  of  his 
breakfast. 


A  FIGHT.  245 

"  What  did  you  come  up  for,  Dolly  ?  " 

"To  see  you,  sir." 

"You  might  have  waited  for  that." 

"But  how  long?     I  had  waited." 

"  What's  up  ? — if  your  mother's  well." 

"  1  wanted  to  talk  to  you,  father,  and  I  couldn't 
do  it  in  letters;  because  there  the  talking  was  all 
on  one  side,  and  I  wanted  to  hear  what  you  would 
say." 

"  Why,  didn't  I  answer  you  ?  " 

"No,  sir." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want,  Dolly  ?  " 

"  I  want  a  great  deal,  father.  Wait,  please,  till 
I  get  my  chop ;  for  I  cannot  talk  to  you  till  I  do." 

"  '  111  talking  between  a  full  man  and  a  fasting,' 
eh  ?  Well,  here's  your  breakfast." 

It  was  only  the  bespoken  cup  and  plate,  how- 
ever, and  Mr.  Copley  had  to  wait  longer.  It  came 
at  last,  the  chop;  and  till  it  came  Dolly  said  no 
more.  Her  father  watched  her,  and  watched  her, 
and  could  not  take  his  eyes  off  her.  The  flush  on 
her  cheek  and  t*he  sparkle  in  her  eye,  the  moisture 
still  lingering  on  her  eyelashes,  how  sweet  she 
was !  and  how  indefinably  lovely !  Dolly  had 
grown  into  a  woman;  she  had  the  presence  and 
poise  that  belong  to"  a  high-bred  woman ;  and  yet 
she  had  not  lost  her  girlhood  nor  grown  out  of  its 
artless  graces;  and  as  Mr.  Copley  looked  he  saw 
now  and  then  a  very  childlike  trembling  of  the 
under  lip.  It  troubled  his  heart.  He  had  been 
very  uncomfortable  ever  since  his  meeting  with 


246  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

his  daughter;  the  discomfort  began  now  to  de- 
velope  into  the  stings  and  throes  of  positive  pain. 
What  was  she  there  for?  whence  had  come  that 
agony  of  tears  ?  and  why  when  those  tears  were 
pouring  from  her  eyes  did  her  soft  arm  clasp  him 
so  ?  did  she  want  help  from  him  ?  or  for  him  ?  Mr. 
Copley  grew  extremely  uneasy;  restless  and  fidget- 
ing. Dolly  eat  her  chop  and  her  potatoe,  needing 
it  I  fancy;  and  perhaps  she  wanted  to  gain  time 
too.  Mr.  Copley  had  no  appetite.  He  had  none 
to  begin  with,  and  certainly  Dolly's  appearance 
had  not  given  him  what  he  had  not  before. 

"  You  don't  make  much  of  a  breakfast,  father," 
Dolly  observed. 

"Never  do,"  he  returned.  "No  time  to  eat, 
when  a  man  has  just  got  up.  A  cup  of  coffee  is 
the  only  thing.  The  French  way  is  the  best." 

"You  did  not  use  to  be  up  so  late,  in  the  old 


"  Don't  think  it's  the  best  time  either ;  but — you 
must  do  as  the  rest  of  the  world  do;  swim  with 
the — what  is  it? — swim  with  the  current." 

"  How  if  the  current  goes  the  wrong  way  ?  " 

"  Can't  help  yourself;  you  must  go  along,  if  you 
are  in  it." 

Dolly  was  silent,  finishing  her  luncheon.  She 
eat  fast  and  hurriedly.  Then  she  pushed  her  chair 
away  and  came  round  and  sat  upon  her  father's 
knee;  laying  one  arm  round  his  neck  and  looking 
into  his  face. 

"  Father,"  she  said  in  her  clear,  musical  voice, 


A  FIGHT.  247 

sweet  as  a  bird's  notes,—"  father,  suppose  we  get 
out  of  the  current  ?  " 

"  What  current  do  you  mean  ?  It  makes  a  great 
confusion  to  try  to  have  your  meals  at  a  diiferent 
hour  from  the  rest  of  the  world." 

"  I  don't  mean  that,  father." 

"  What  have  you  come  up  to  town  for  ?  " 

"  To  see  about  it  " — said  Dolly  with  a  smile  that 
dimpled  her  cheeks  most  charmingly,  and  covered 
the  anxiety  she  did  not  want  to  shew. 

"To  see  about  what?  Dolly,  you  are  grown  a 
woman." 

"  Yes,  father." 

"  And,  I  declare  you're  a  beautiful  woman,  child. 
It's  time  we  were  thinking  of  getting  you  married." 

"  You're  not  in  a  hurry,  are  you,  father  ?  " 

"In  a  hurry?"  said  Mr.  Copley  gazing  at  her 
admiringly.  "  Why  yes.  I  want  you  to  be  mar- 
ried while  you  can  choose  your  place  in  the  world, 
and  enjoy  it  when  you  have  got  it.  And  you  can 
choose  now,  Dolly." 

"What,  sir?"' 

"  Your  husband." 

"  But  father ! "  cried  Dolly,  while  her  cheeks 
covered  themselves  with  the  most  brilliant  roses, — 
"  I  cannot  choose  what  is  not  presented  to  my 
choice." 

"No,  child;  take  what  is.  That's  what  I  am 
thinking  of.  Good  enough  too.  Don't  you  like 
the  ticket  you've  drawn?" 

"  Father,"  said  Dolly,  turning  the  tables  now  on 


248  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

her  side,  and  laying  her  face  in  his  neck, — "  I  wish 
you  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  lotteries  or 
gaming ! " 

"  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  lotteries,  child." 

"  But  with  gaming  ?  " 

"What  put  such  a  thing  into  your  head?" 

Dolly  hesitated,  strained  him  a  little  closer  in 
her  embrace,  and  did  not  answer  directly. 

"  Father,  I  wish  you  would ! " — 

"What  folly  are  you  talking,  Dolly?"  gaid  Mr. 
Copley  angrily.  "  You  are  meddling  with  what 
you  do  not  understand." 

But  Dolly  only  clung  closer,  and  having  once 
broken  the  ice  would  not  now  give  back.  She 
must  speak  now. 

"Father,"  she  said,  half  sobbing,  yet  command- 
ing the  sobs  down,  "  we  are  getting  ruined.  We 
are  losing  each  other.  Mother  and  I  live  alone — 
we  do  not  see  you — we  are  poor — we  have  not 
money  to  pay  our  dues — mother  is  not  getting  bet- 
ter— and  I  am  breaking  my  heart  about  her,  and 
about  you.  0  father,  let  us  come  and  live  together 
again." 

Dolly  got  no  answer  to  this  outburst,  and  hardly 
was  conscious  that  she  got  none,  she  was  so  eagerly 
trying  to  swallow  down  the  emotion  which  threat- 
ened to  master  her  voice.  Mr.  Copley  had  no  an- 
swer ready. 

"  Father,"  Dolly  began  again,  "  mother  wants 
to  travel;  she  wants  to  go  to  Venice.  Suppose 
we  go  ?  " 


A  FIGHT.  249 

"Can't  travel  without  money,  Dolly.  You  say 
we  haven't  any." 

"  Would  it  cost  more  to  travel  than  to  live  as  we 
are  living  ?  " 

"  You  say  we  cannot  do  that." 

"  Father,  do  you  say  so  ?  " 

"  I  am  merely  repeating  your  statements,  Dol- 
ly, to  shew  you  how  like  a  child  you  talk." 

"Answer  me  as  if  I  were  a  child  then,  father, 
and  tell  me  what  we  can  do.  But  dorit  let  us  go 
on  living  as  we  are  doing  !  " 

"  I  thought  I  had  done  the  very  best  thing 
possible  for  your  mother,  when  I  got  her  that 
place  down  at — I  forget  what's  the  name  of  the 
place." 

"Brierley." 

"  I  thought  I  had  done  the  very  best  thing  for 
her,  when  I  settled  her  there.  Now  she  is  tired 
of  it." 

"But  father,  we  cannot  pay  our  way;  and  it 
worries  her." 

"  She  is  always  worrying  about  something  or 
other.  If  it  wasn't  that,  it  would  be  something 
else.  Any  man  may  be  straightened  for  cash  now 
and  then.  It  happens  to  everybody.  It  is  noth- 
ing to  make  a  fuss  about." 

"  But  father,  if  I  cannot  pay  the  servants,  they 
must  be  without  cash  too;  and  that  is  hard  on 
poor  people." 

"Not  half  so  hard  as  on  people  above  them," 
replied  her  father  hastily.  "They  have  ways  and 


250  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

means ;  and  they  don't  have  a  tenth  or  a  hundredth 
as  many  wants,  anyhow." 

"But  those  they  have  are  wants  of  necessary 
things,"  urged  Dolly. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?  "  said  Mr. 
Copley,  with  as  much  of  harshness  in  his  manner 
as  ever  could  come  out  towards  Dolly.  "  I  cannot 
coin  money  for  you,  well  as  I  would  like  to  do  it." 

"  Father,  let  us  take  what  we  have  got,  and  go 
to  Venice !  all  together.  We'll  travel  ever  so 
cheaply  and  live  ever  so  plainly;  only  let  us  go! 
Only  let  us  go  !  " 

"Think  your  mother'd  like  travelling  second 
class  ?  "  said  Mr.  Copley  in  the  same  way. 

"She  wouldn't  mind  so  very  much;  and  I 
wouldn't  mind  it  at  all.  If  we  could  only  go." 

"And  what  is  to  become  of  my  business?" 

Dolly  did  not  dare  give  the  answer  that  rose 
to  her  tongue,  nor  let  her  father  know  how  much 
she  knew.  She  came  up  on  another  side  of  the 
subject,  and  insisted  that  the  consulate  might  be 
dispensed  with.  Mr.  Copley  did  not  need  the 
office  and  might  well  be  tired  of  it  by  this  time. 
Dolly  pleaded,  and  her  father  heard  her  with  a 
half  embarrassed,  half  sullen  face;  feeling  her  af- 
fectionate entreaties  more  than  was  at  all  con- 
venient, and  conscious  at  the  same  time  of  a  whole 
side  of  hia  life  that  he  would  be  ashamed  his 
daughter  should  know ;  and  afraid  of  her  guessing 
it.  Alas,  for  father  and  child  both,  when  such  a 
state  of  things  comes  about ! 


A  FIGHT.  251 

"  Come,  father !  "  said  Dolly  at  last,  touching  her 
forehead  to  his  forehead  in  a  sweet  kind  of  caress, 
— "I  want  you." 

"Suppose  I  find  somebody  else  to  go  with  you 
instead  of  me?" 

"Nobody  else  will  do.    Come,  father!    Do  come." 

"  You  might  set  off  with  Lawrence — "  said  Mr. 
Copley  as  if  considering, — "  and  I  might  join  you 
afterwards;  at  Venice,  perhaps,  or  Nice,  or  some- 
where. Hey  ?  " 

"  That  won't  do.  I  would  not  go  with  Mr.  Law- 
ence." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"Too  much  of  an  honour  for  him." 

"You  need  not  be  afraid  of  shewing  him  too 
much  honour,  for  he  is  willing  to  give  you  the 
greatest  man  can  give  to  a  woman." 

Dolly  coloured  again,  and  again  touched  her 
forehead  to  her  father's  forehead  and  sat  so,  lean- 
ing against  him.  Maybe  with  an  instinct  of  hid- 
ing her  cheeks. 

"  Father,  let  us  go  to  Venice !  "  she  began  again, 
leaving  Mr.  St.  Leger.  "Just  think  what  fun 
it  would  be,  to  go  all  together.  We  have  been 
living  so  long  without  you.  I  believe  it  would 
just  make  mother  up.  Think  of  seeing  Venice 
together,  father! — and  then  maybe  we  would  go 
on  to  Geneva  and  get  a  look  at  Mont  Blanc." 

"  Geneva  is  a  place  for  lovers,"  said  Mr.  Copley. 

"  Why  ?  " 

"Romantic." 


252  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"Can't  anybody  else  be  romantic,  except  that 
sort  of  people?  I  am  romantic, — and  I  do  not 
care  a  straw  about  anybody  but  mother  and  you." 

"Don't  tell  Mr.  St.  Leger  that." 

"  He  might  as  well  know  it.  Come,  father ! 
Say  you'll  go." 

It  was  hard  to  withstand  her.  The  pure,  gentle 
intonations  rang  upon  Mr.  Copley's  soul  almost 
like  bells  of  doom,  because  he  did  withstand  her. 
She  was  his  saving  good  angel;  he  half  knew  it; 
he  was  ashamed  before  his  child,  and  conscience 
knocked  hard  at  the  door  of  his  heart;  but  the 
very  shame  he  felt  before  her  made  her  presence 
irksome  to  him,  while  yet  it  was,  0  so  sweet !  Alas, 
"he  that  doeth  evil  hateth  the  light."  He  was 
entangled,  in  more  than  one  sort  of  net,  and  he 
lacked  moral  power  to  break  the  meshes.  The 
gentle  fingers  that  were  busy  with  the  net,  trying 
to  unloose  it,  were  a  reproach  and  a  torment  to 
him.  She  must  marry  St.  Leger;  so  his  thoughts 
ran;  it  was  the  best  thing  that  could  happen  to 
her;  it  was  the  best  he  could  do  for  her.  Then 
she  would  be  secure  at  all  events. 

"  Dolly,  why  don't  you  like  Lawrence  ? "  he 
began. 

"  He's  too  handsome,  father, — for  one  thing." 

"I  never  heard  of  such  a  reason  for  a  lady's 
dislike.  That's  play,  Dolly." 

"And  he  knows  it;  there's  another  thing." 

"  Well,  of  course  he  knows  it.  How  can  he  help 
knowing  it  ?  " 


A  FIGHT.  253 

"  And  he's  too  rich." 

"  Dolly,  you  are  talking  nonsense." 

"And  he  knows  that." 

"  He  doesn't  know  he's  too  rich,"  said  Mr.  Copley 
with  a  little  bitterness.  "No  St.  Leger  ever  did 
that." 

"Well,  father,  that's  what  he  is.  Very  hand- 
some, and  very  rich.  He  is  nothing  else.  He 
would  suit  some  people  admirably;  but  he  don't 
suit  me." 

"  What  sort  of  thing  would  suit  you  ?  " 

"  A  very  perverse  sort  of  a  person,  who  is  called 
Frank  Collinshaw  Copley." 

"  Well,  you've  got  me,"  said  her  father,  laughing 
a  little  at  her.  He  could  not  help  it.  "  You  want 
something  else  besides." 

"  I  don't,  father,  indeed." 

"And  my  child,  money  is  necessary  in  this 
world.  You  cannot  get  along  without  money." 

"  Father,  will  you  come  to  Venice  ?  and  we'll 
get  along  with  very  little  money.  Father,  we 
must  go,  for  mother.  The  doctor  says  so,  and  she 
is  just  longing  to  go.  We  ought  to  go  as  soon  as 
ever  you  can  be  ready." 

"  You  shew  how  much  you  know  about  it,  when 
you  talk  of  Venice  and  a  little  money !  You  had 
better  take  Mr.  St.  Leger." 

"Father,  everybody  says  living  is  cheap  in 
Switzerland." 

"  You  talked  of  Venice." 

"And  Italy.     The  doctor  says  mother  ought  to 


254  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

stay  some  time  at  Nice,  or  Naples.  Father,  you 
can  arrange  it.  Do !  Give  up  the  consulate,  and 
let  us  take  mother  to  Italy;  and  then  home  if  you 
like.  I  don't  much  care,  so  that  we  have  you." 
And  again  Dolly's  forehead  bent  over  to  give  a 
soft  impact  to  her  father's  brown  brow. 

"  Who  did  you  come  to  town  with  ? "  he  said 
suddenly.  She  told  him. 

"  Well,  now  you  had  better  go  back  with  her, 
and  I  will  see  what  I  can  do." 

"  You  will  go,  father  ?  " 

"  If  I  cannot  immediately,  I  will  send  you  and 
come  on  after." 

"I  cannot  go  without  you,  father.  0  come, 
come ! "  And  Dolly  rained  kisses  upon  his  face, 
and  stroked  his  forehead  and  cheeks,  and  was  so 
entirely  delicious  in  her  tenderness  and  her  sweet- 
ness, her  love  and  her  anxiety,  that  the  heart  of 
ordinary  man  could  not  stand  it.  Anything  else 
became  more  easy  than  to  refuse  her.  So  Mr. 
Copley  said  he  would  go;  and  received  a  new 
harvest  of  caresses  in  reward,  not  wholly  charac- 
terized by  the  usual  drought  of  harvest  time,  for 
some  drops  of  joy  and  thankfulness  still  came  fall- 
ing, a  sunlit  shower. 

"Now,  my  child,"  said  her  father,  "you  had  bet- 
ter go  back  to  your  good  housekeeper,  and  then 
back  to  your  mother,  and  get  all  things  ready  for 
a  start." 

"  Father,  I  can  stay  here  to-night,  can't  I  ?  " 

Mr.  Copley  was  not  sure  that   he  wanted   her; 


A  FIGHT.  255 

yet  he  could  not  refuse  to  make  inquiry.  There 
was  no  difficulty;  plenty  of  room;  and  Dolly  joy- 
ously prepared  herself  to  gather  in  the  fruits  of 
her  victory,  through  that  following  care  and  those 
measures  of  security  for  want  of  which  many  a 
victory  has  been  won  in  vain.  Mrs.  Jersey  had 
long  since  been  informed  that  she  need  not  wait, 
and  had  driven  away.  Dolly  now  sent  for  her 
portmanteau,  and  established  herself  in  her  fa- 
ther's sitting  room. 

Mr.  Copley  looked  on,  helplessly ;  half  delighted, 
half  bored.  He  would  not  have  chosen  to  have 
Dolly  there  just  then ;  yet  being  there  she  was  one 
of  the  most  lovely  visions  that  a  father's  eye  could 
rest  upon.  Grown  to  be  a  woman — yes,  she  was; 
ordering  and  arranging  things  with  a  woman's  wis- 
dom and  skill;  ordering  him,  Mr.  Copley  felt  with 
a  queer  sensation ;  and  yet,  so  simple  and  free  and 
sweet  in  all  her  words  and  ways  as  might  have  be- 
come seven  instead  of  seventeen.  St.  Leger  might 
be  glad  if  he  could  get  her !  Yet  she  was  incon- 
venient to  Mr.  Copley.  She  stood  in  his  way,  like 
the  angel  in  Balaam's ;  only  not  with  a  sword  drawn, 
but  with  loving  looks,  and  kisses,  and  graces,  and 
wiles  of  affection ;  and  who  could  withstand  an  an- 
gel ?  He  gave  up  trying ;  he  let  her  have  her  way ; 
and  when  dinner  time  came,  Dolly  and  he  had  an 
almost  jovial  dinner.  Until  Mr.  Copley  rose  from 
table,  unlocked  a  cupboard,  and  took  out  a  bottle 
of  wine.  Dolly's  heart  gave  a  sudden  leap  that 
meant  a  throe  of  pain.  Was  there  another  fight 


256  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

to  be  fought?  How  should  she  fight  another  fight? 
But  the  emergency  pressed  her. 

"  0  father,"  she  cried,  "is  that  sherry?  " 

"  No,  it  is  better,"  said  her  father  pouring  out  a 
glass, — "is  is  Madeira." 

Dolly  saw  the  hand  tremble  that  grasped  the 
bottle,  and  she  sprang  up.  She  went  round  to  her 
father,  fell  down  on  her  knees  before  him,  and  laid 
one  hand  on  the  hand  that  had  just  seized  the 
glass,  the  other  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Please,  father,  don't  take  it !  please  don't  take 
it ! "  she  said  in  imploring  tones.  Mr.  Copley 
paused. 

"Not  take  it?     Why  not?"  said  he. 

"  It  is  not  good  for  you.  I  know  you  ought  not 
to  take  it,  father.  Please,  please,  don't !  " 

Dolly's  eagerness  and  distress  were  too  visible  to 
be  disregarded,  by  Mr.  Copley  at  least.  Her  hand 
was  trembling  too.  His  still  held  the  glass,  but  he 
looked  uncertainly  at  Dolly,  and  asked  her  why  it 
should  not  be  good  for  him  ?  Every  gentleman  in 
the  land  drank  wine — that  could  afford  it. 

"But  father,"  said  Dolly,  "can  you  afford  it?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Copley.  "  Get  up,  Dolly.  Here 
is  the  wine ;  it  costs  no  more  to  drink  it  than  to  let 
it  alone."  And  he  swallowed  the  wine  in  the  glass 
at  a  single  draught. 

"0  father,  don't  take  any  more! "  cried  Dolly  see- 
ing a  preparatory  movement  of  the  hand  towards 
the  bottle.  "  0  father,  don't,  don't !  One  glass  is 
enough.  Don't  take  any  more  to-day!" 


A  FIGHT.  257 

"You  talk  like  a  goose,  Dolly,"  said  Mr.  Copley 
filling  his  glass.  "I  feel  better  already  for  that. 
It  has  done  me  good." 

"You  only  think  so.     It  is  not  doing  you  good. 

0  father,  if  you  love  me,  put  the  bottle  away.    Don't 
take  a  drop  more ! " 

Dolly  had  turned  pale  in  her  agony  of  pleading; 
and  her  father,  conscious  in  part,  and  ashamed  with 
that  secret  consciousness,  and  taken  by  surprise  at 
her  action,  looked  at  her  and — did  not  drink. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  child?"  he  said, 
trying  for  an  unconcerned  manner.  "Why  should 
not  I  take  wine,  like  everybody  else  in  the  world?" 

"  Father,  it  isn't  good  for  people." 

"I  beg  your  pardon;  it  is  very  good  for  me. 
Indeed  I  cannot  be  well  without  it." 

"That's  the  very  thing,  father;  people  cannot  do 
without  it ;  and  then  it  comes  to  be  the  master ;  and 
then — they  cannot  help  themselves.  0  do  let  it 
alone ! " 

"What's  the  matter,  Dolly?"  Mr.  Copley  re- 
peated with  an  air  of  injury,  which  was  at  the 
same  time  miserably  marred  by  embarrassment. 
"Do  you  think  I  cannot  help  myself?  or  how  am 

1  different  from  every  other  gentleman  who  takes 
wine  ?  " 

"  Father,  a  great  many  of  them  are  ruined  by  it." 

"  Well,  I  am  not  ruined  by  it  yet." 

"  Father,  how  can  you  tell  what  might  be  ?     Fa- 
ther, I  can't  bear  it ! — "    Dolly  could  not  indeed ;  she 
broke  down.     She  sat  on  the  floor  and  sobbed. 
17 


258  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

If  Mr.  Copley  could  have  been  angry  with  her; 
but  he  could  not,  she  was  so  sweet  in  every  plead- 
ing look  and  tone.  If  he  could  have  dismissed  her 
pleading  as  the  whimsy  of  a  fool ;  but  he  could  not, 
for  he  knew  it  was  wise  truth.  If  he  had  been 
further  gone  in  the  habit  which  was  growing  upon 
him,  to  the  point  of  brutality ;  but  he  was  not  yet ; 
he  was  a  man  of  affectionate  nature.  So  he  did  not 
get  angry,  and  though  he  wished  Dolly  at  Brierley 
instead  of  in  his  room,  he  could  not  let  her  break 
her  heart,  seeing  that  she  was  there.  He  looked 
at  her  in  uncomfortable  silence  for  a  minute  or  two; 
and  then  the  bitterness  of  Dolly's  sobs  was  more 
than  he  could  stand.  He  rose  and  put  the  bottle 
away,  locked  it  up,  and  came  back  to  his  place. 
Dolly's  distress  hindered  her  knowing  what  he  had 
done. 

"  It's  gone," — Mr.  Copley  said  in  an  injured  tone, 
as  of  one  oppressed  and  persecuted.  "  It  is  put 
away,  Dolly ;  you  need  not  sit  there  any  longer." 

Dolly  looked  up,  rose  from  the  floor,  came  into 
her  father's  arms,  laid  her  two  arms  about  his  neck 
and  her  weary  head  upon  his  shoulder.  It  was  a 
soft  little  head,  and  the  action  was  like  a  child. 
Mr.  Copley  clasped  her  tenderly. 

"Dolly,"  he  said, — "my  child — you  are  giving 
yourself  a  great  deal  more  trouble  than  you  need." 

Dolly  murmured,  "  Thank  you,  father !  " 

"  You  mustn't  be  superstitious." 

Alas !  Dolly  had  seen  his  face  already  altered  by 
the  indulgence  of  his  new  habits.  Involuntarily 


A  FIGHT.  259 

her  arms  pressed  him  closer,  and  she  only  by  an 
effort  prevented  a  new  outbreak  of  bitter  sorrow. 
That  was  not  best  just  now.  She  put  a  force  upon 
herself;  after  a  while  looked  up,  and  kissed  her 
father;  kissed  him  again  and  again. 

"  I  declare !  "  said  Mr.  Copley,  half  delighted  and 
half  conscience-stricken, — "  you  are  a  little  witch, 
Dolly.  Is  this  the  way  you  are  going  to  rule  other 
folks  beside  me  ?  Mr.  St.  Leger,  for  instance  ?  " 

"  Mercy,  father !  no,"  said  Dolly  recoiling. 

"  I  don't  believe  he  would  be  hard  to  manage. 
He's  desperately  in  love  with  you,  Dolly." 

"  Father,  I  don't  want  to  manage.  And  I  don't 
think  Lawrence  is  in  any  danger.  It  isn't  in  him, 
to  be  desperate  about  anything." 

"So  much  the  better,  I  think,"  said  her  father. 
"What  if  he  should  want  to  go  with  us  to  Venice  ? " 

"  Don't  let  him  !     We  do  not  want  him." 

"  He  would  be  useful,  I  dare  say.  And  I  should 
have  to  take  my  secretary,  Dolly." 

"  Take  that  other  fellow,  the  one  I  saw  in  your 
office  to-day." 

"What,  Babbage?  He's  a  raw  article,  Dolly, 
very  raw.  I  put  him  there  to  answer  questions. 
The  fellow  was  in  a  forlorn  state  here  with  nothing 
to  do." 

They  calmed  down  after  a  while;  and  the  rest  of 
the  evening  was  largely  spent  in  considering  plans 
and  details  of  their  projected  movements.  It  was 
agreed  that  Dolly  should  rejoin  Mrs.  Jersey  the 
next  day,  to  be  ready  to  return  to  Brierley  with 


260  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

her;  that  then  all  preparations  should  be  made  for 
a  speedy  start  to  the  continent.  Father  and  daugh- 
ter talked  themselves  into  ordinary  composure,  and 
when  they  had  bid  each  other  good  night,  Dolly 
went  to  rest  with  a  feeling  of  some  hopefulness. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

RUPERT. 

MRS.  JERSEY  could  not  leave  town  the  next 
day.  Dolly  had  to  wait.  It  was  hard  wait- 
ing. She  half  wished  she  had  staid  that  day  also 
with  her  father ;  yet  when  she  asked  herself  why  ? 
— she  shuddered.  To  take  care  of  him  ?  to  watch 
and  keep  guard  over  him  ?  What  use,  for  one  day, 
when  she  could  do  it  no  longer  ?  Mr.  Copley  must 
be  left  to  himself;  and  a  feeling  of  'helplessness 
stole  over  her.  From  the  momentary  encourage- 
ment and  hope,  she  fell  back  again  to  take  a  more 
comprehensive  view  of  the  subject;  she  saw  that 
all  was  not  gained  yet,  and  it  might  be  that 
nothing !  And  she  could  dp  no  more,  except  pray. 
Poor  Dolly  did  that;  but  the  strain  of  fear,  the 
horror  of  shame,  the  grief  of  hurt  affection,  began 
to  make  her  very  sore.  She  was  not  getting 
accustomed  to  her  burden;  it  was  growing  more 
insupportably  galling;  the  only  hope  for  the  whole 
family  lay  in  getting  together  and  remaining  to- 
gether, and  in  this  journey  taking  Mr.  Copley  away 
from  his  haunts  and  his  tempters.  Yet  Dolly  re- 
flected with  trembling  that  the  temptation,  both 
temptations,  would  meet  them  on  their  way;  if  a 


262  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

man  desired  to  drink  or  to  play,  he  would  never  be 
at  a  loss  for  the  opportunity  or  the  companions. 
Dolly  wrung  her  hands  and  prayed  again. 

However,  something  was  gained;  and  Dolly  on 
her  return  reported  to  her  mother  that  they  were 
to  set  off  for  the  continent  in  a  few  days.  She 
brought  down  money  moreover  to  pay  off  the  ser- 
vants; and  with  a  heart  so  far  lightened,  went 
bravely  at  the  preparations  to  be  made. 

"  And  will  your  father  go  with  us  to  Venice  ?  " 

"Of  course,  mother.  We  cannot  go  without 
him." 

"  What  if  Venice  shouldn't  agree  with  me  ?  " 

"O  then  we'll  go  on  further.  I  think  Naples 
would  agree  with  you.  There  is  a  very  nice  house 
at  Sorrento  —  nice  people  —  where  Lady  Brierley 
spent  a  summer;  and  Mrs.  Jersey  has  given  me 
the  address.  Perhaps  we'll  go  there." 

"  But  if  Lady  Brierley  was  there,  I  guess  it's  an 
expensive  place." 

"No,  Mrs.  Jersey  says  not.  You  must  have  what 
you  want,  anyhow,  mother  dear." 

"I  always  used,"  said  poor  Mrs.  Copley;  "but  of 
late  I  have  been  obliged  to  sing  another  tune." 

"  Go  back  to  the  old  tune,  then,  dear.  If  father 
^hasn't  got  the  money,  I'll  find  some  way  of  raising 
it  myself.  I  mean  you  shall  go  to  Sorrento.  Mrs. 
Jersey  says  it's  just  charming  there." 

"  I  wonder  what  she  knows  about  it !  A  house- 
keeper !  Queer  person  to  tell  you  and  me  where 
to  go." 


RUPERT.  263 

"  Why  a  finger  post  can  do  that,  mother.  Mrs. 
Jersey  knows  a  great  deal  besides,  about  a  great 
many  things." 

"Well!"  Mrs.  Copley  said  again  with  another 
sigh — "  it  is  new  times  to  me  altogether.  And  I 
wish  the  old  times  would  come  back ! " 

"  Perhaps  they  will,  mother.  When  once  we 
get  hold  of  father  again,  we  must  try  to  charm 
him  into  staying  with  us." 

And  it  seemed  to  Dolly  that  they  might  do  so 
much.  The  spirit  of  seventeen  is  not  easily  kept 
down ;  and  with  the  stir  of  actually  getting  ready  for 
the  journey,  she  felt  her  hope  and  courage  moving 
also.  A  change  at  any  rate  was  before  her;  and 
Dolly  had  a  faint  far-off  thought  of  possibly  work- 
ing upon  her  father  to  induce  him  at  the  close  of 
their  Italian  journey  to  take  ship  for  home. 

So  she  bustled  about  from  morning  till  night; 
packed  what  was  to  go  and  what  was  to  be  left; 
grew  very  cheery  over  her  work,  and  cheered  and 
amused  her  mother.  September  was  on  its  way 
now;  it  was  time  to  be  off;  and  Dolly  wrote  to  her 
father  to  tell  him  she  was  ready. 

A  few  days  later,  Dolly  was  in  the  porch  rest- 
ing and  eating  a  fine  pear,  which  came  out  of  a 
basket  Mrs.  Jersey  had  sent.  It  was  afternoon, 
sunny  and  hazy,  the  air  fragrant  from  the  woods, 
the  silence  now  and  then  emphasized  by  a  shot 
somewhere  in  the  distance.  Dolly  was  happy  and 
hopeful;  the  weather  was  most  lovely,  the  pear 
was  excellent;  she  was  having  a  pleasant  half 


264  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

hour  of  musing  and  anticipation.  Somebody  came 
on  foot  along  the  road,  swung  open  the  small  lat- 
tice gate,  and  advanced  up  the  path  towards  her. 

Who  was  it?  Not  Mr.  St.  Leger,  which  had 
been  Dolly's  first  momentary  fear.  No,  this  was 
a  different  creature.  A  young  man,  but  how  un- 
like that  other.  St.  Leger  was  trim  built,  smooth, 
regular,  comely;  this  young  fellow  was  lank,  long- 
limbed,  none  of  his  joints  played  symmetrically 
with  the  others;  and  the  face,  though  shrewd 
enough  and  good-natured,  had  no  remote  preten- 
sions to  beauty.  His  dress  had  not  been  cut  by 
the  sort  of  tailor  that  worked  for  the  St.  Legers ; 
his  gait,  instead  of  the  firm,  compact,  confident 
movement  which  Dolly  was  accustomed  to  see, 
had  a  swinging  stride,  which  indeed  did  not  lack 
a  kind  of  confidence;  the  kind  that  makes  no 
doubt  of  getting  over  the  ground,  and  cares  little 
for  obstacles.  As  Dolly  looked,  she  thought  she 
had  seen  him  before.  But  it  was  very  odd,  never- 
theless, the  sort  of  well-pleased  smile  his  face 
wore.  He  took  off  his  hat  when  he  got  to  the 
foot  of  the  steps,  and  stood  there  looking  up  at 
Dolly  in  the  porch. 

"  You  don't  recollect  me,  I  guess,"  said  he. 

"  No — "  said  Dolly  gravely. 

"  I  am  Kupert  Babbage.  And  that  don't  make 
you  much  wiser,  does  it  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Dolly.     "  Not  at  all." 

"  Likely.     But  Mr.  Copley  has  sent  me  down." 

"Has  he?" 


RUPERT.  265 

"I  recollect  you,  first  rate,"  the  stranger  went 
on,  feeling  in  his  coat  pocket  for  something  and 
producing  therefrom  a  letter.  "Don't  you  know 
the  day  you  came  to  your  father's  office  ?  " — And 
mounting  a  step  or  two,  without  further  preface 
he  handed  the  letter  to  Dolly.  Dolly  saw  her  fa- 
ther's handwriting,  her  own  name  on  the  cover, 
and  put  a  stop  to  the  wonder  which  was  creeping 
over  her,  by  breaking  the  seal.  While  she  read 
the  letter  the  young  man's  eyes  read  her  face. 

"DEAR  DOLLY, 

"I  can't  get  quit  of  this  confounded  Babel  yet — 
and  you  must  want  somebody  badly.  So  I  send 
Rupert  down.  He'll  do  everything  you  want, 
better  in  fact  than  I  could,  for  he  is  young  and 
spry,  and  as  good  a  boy  as  lives.  He  will  see  to 
everything,  and  you  can  get  off  as  soon  as  you 
like.  I  think  he  had  better  go  along  all  the  way ; 
his  mother  wit  is  worth  a  dozen  stupid  couriers, 
even  though  he  don't  know  quite  so  much  about 
routes  and  hotels;  he  will  soon  pick  all  that  up. 
Will  you  want  to  stay  more  than  a  night  in  town? 
For  that  night  my  landlady  can  take  you  in ;  and 
if  you  let  me  know  when  you  will  be  ready  I  will 
have  your  passage  taken  in  the  packet. 

"  Hurried,  as  always,  dear  Dolly,  with  my  love 
to  your  mother, 

"F.  C.  COPLEY, 

"Consul's  Office— London, 
"Sep.  9,  182—." 


266  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

Poor  Dolly  read  this  note  over  and  over,  having 
thrown  away  the  remainder  of  her  sweet  pear  as 
belonging  only  to  a  time  of  easy  pleasure-taking 
which  was  past.  Was  her  father  not  coming  to 
Brierley  then  ?  she  must  get  off  without  him  ? 
Why?  And  "your  passage"?  why  not  "our"  pas- 
sage? Dolly  felt  the  ground  giving  way  under 
her  feet.  No,  her  father  could  not  be  coming  to 
Brierley,  or  he  would  not  have  sent  this  young 
fellow.  And  all  things  in  the  world  were  hover- 
ing in  uncertainty ;  nothing  sure,  even  to  hope. 

The  eyes  that  watched  her  saw  the  face  change, 
the  fair,  bright,  young  face;  saw  her  colour  pale, 
and  the  lovely  lines  of  the  lips  droop  for  a  moment 
to  an  expression  of  great  sadness.  The  eyelids 
drooped  too,  and  he  was  sure  there  was  a  glisten- 
ing under  them. 

"Did  Mr.  Copley  say  why  he  could  not  come?" 
she  asked  at  length,  lifting  her  head. 

"  He  did  not.  I  am  very  sorry ! "  said  Rupert 
involuntarily.  "  I  guess  he  could  not  get  his  busi- 
ness fixed.  And  he  said  you  were  in  a  hurry." 

But  not  without  him  !  thought  Dolly.  What 
was  the  whole  movement  for,  if  he  were  to  be  left 
out  of  it?  What  should  she  do?  But  she  must 
not  let  the  tears  come.  That  would  do  nobody 
any  good,  not  even  herself.  She  brushed  away  the 
undue  moisture,  and  raised  her  head. 

"  Did  Mr.  Copley  tell  you  who  I  am  ?  "  the  young 
man  asked.  "  I  guess  he  didn't  forget  that." 

"No.     Yes!"  said  Dolly,  unable  to  help  smiling 


RUPERT.  267 

at  the  question  and  the  simple  earnestness  of  the 
questioner's  face.  "  He  told  me  your  name." 

"  Left  you  to  find  out  the  rest?"  said  he.  "  Well, 
what  can  I  do  first?  That's  what  for  I'm  come." 

"  I  don't  think  there  is  anything  to  do,"  said 
Dolly. 

"  All  ready  ?  " 

"Yes.     Pretty  much.     All  except  finishing." 

"  Lots  o'  baggage? " 

"No,  not  so  very  much.  We  did  not  bring  a 
great  deal  down  here." 

"Then  it'll  go  by  the  coach  easy  enough.  How 
will  it  get  to  the  coach  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  We  must  have  a  waggon  from 
the  village,  I  suppose,  or  from  some  farmhouse." 

"When  do  you  want  to  go?  and  I'll  soon  fix 
that." 

Dolly  reflected  and  said,  "  The  day  after  to-mor- 
row." 

"All  right." 

He  was  setting  forth  immediately,  with  a  world 
of  energy  in  his  gait.  Dolly  called  after  him. 

"To-morrow  will  be  time  enough  for  the  wag- 
gon, Mr.  Babbage." 

"There'll  be  something  else  for  to-morrow,"  he 
answered  without  pausing. 

"Tea'll  be  ready  at  six,"  said  Dolly,  raising  her 
voice  a  little. 

"  All  right !  "  said  he,  and  sped  away. 

Dolly  looked  after  him,  so  full  of  vexation  that 
she  did  not  know  what  to  do.  Not  her  father,  and 


268  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

in  his  place  this  boy !  This  boy  to  go  with  them 
on  the  journey;  to  be  one  of  the  party;  to  be  al- 
ways on  hand;  for  he  could  not  be  relegated  to  the 
place  of  a  servant  or  a  courier.  And  Dolly  wanted 
her  father,  and  was  sure  that  the  expense  of  a 
fourth  person  might  have  been  spared.  The  worst 
fear  of  all  she  would  not  look  at;  it  was  possible 
that  they  were  still  to  be  three,  and  her  father  the 
fourth  left  out.  However,  for  the  present  the  mat- 
ter in  hand  was  action;  she  must  tell  her  mother 
about  this  new  arrival  before  she  met  him  at  sup- 
per. Dolly  went  in. 

"  Your  father  not  coming  ? "  said  Mrs.  Copley 
when  she  had  heard  Dolly's  report.  "Then  we 
have  nothing  to  wait  for,  and  we  can  get  right  off. 
I  do  want  to  see  your  father  out  of  that  miserable 
office  once ! " 

"  Well,  he  promised  me,  mother,"  said  Dolly 
sighing. 

"  Can  we  go  to-morrow  ?  " 

"No,  mother;  there  are  too  many  last  things  to 
do.  Next  day  we  will." 

"  Why  can't  we  go  and  leave  this  young  man  to 
finish  up  after  us  ?  " 

"He  could  not  do  it,  mother;  and  we  must  let 
father  know,  besides." 

Rupert  came  back  in  due  time  and  was  presented 
to  Mrs.  Copley;  but  Mrs.  Copley  did  not  admire  his 
looks,  and  the  supper  table  party  was  very  silent. 
The  silence  became  unbearable  to  the  new-comer; 
and  though  he  was  not  without  a  certain  shyness 


RUPERT.  269 

in  Dolly's  presence,  it  became  at  last  easier  to 
speak  than  to  go  on  eating  and  not  speaking. 

"  Plenty  of  shootin'  round  about  here,  I  s'pose," 
he  remarked.  "  I  heard  the  guns  going." 

"The  preserves  of  Brierley  are  very  full  of  game," 
Dolly  answered;  "and  there  are  some  friends  of 
Lord  Brierley  staying  at  the  house." 

"  I  engaged  a  waggon,"  Rupert  went  on.  "  It'll 
be  here  at  one,  sharp." 

"  I  ought  to  have  sent  a  word  to  the  post-office, 
for  father,  when  you  went  to  the  village ;  but  I  did 
not  think  till  it  was  too  late." 

"  I  did  that,"  said  Rupert. 

"  Sent  a  word  to  father  ?  " 

"  All  right.     Told  him  you'd  be  up  Wednesday." 

"  O  thank  you.     That  was  very  thoughtful." 

"  You're  from  America,"  said  Mrs.  Copley. 

"  Should  think  I  was !  " 

"  Whereabouts  ?  where  from,  I  mean  ?  " 

"  About  two  mile  from  your  place — Ortonville  is 
the  spot.  My  native." 

"  What  made  you  come  over  here  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  s'pose  it  would  be  as  true  as  anything 
to  say,  Mr.  Copley  made  me  come." 

"What  for?" 

"  Well,  I  guess  it  was  kindness.     Most  likely." 

"  Kindness !  "  echoed  Mrs.  Copley.  "  Poor  kind- 
ness, I  call  it,  to  take  a  man,  or  a  boy,  or  any  one 
else,  away  from  his  natural  home.  Haven't  you 
found  it  so  ?  Don't  you  wish  you  were  back  there 
again  ?  " 


270  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"Well,"  said  Eupert with  a  little  slowness,  and  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye  at  the  same  time, — "  I  just  don't; 
if  I'm  to  tell  the  truth." 

"  It  is  incomprehensible  to  me ! "  returned  the 
lady.  "  Why  what  do  you  find  here,  that  you 
would  not  have  had  at  home  ?  " 

"  England,  for  one  thing,"  said  the  young  man 
with  a  smile. 

"  England !  Of  course  you  would  not  have  had 
England  at  home ;  but  isn't  America  better  ?  " 

"I  think  it  is." 

"  Then  what  do  you  gain  by  exchanging  one  for 
the  other?"  said  Mrs.  Copley  with  heat. 

"  That  exchange  ain't  made  yet.  I  calculate  to 
go  back,  when  I  have  got  all  I  want  on  this  side." 

"And  what  do  you  want?  Money,  I  suppose. 
Everything  is  for  money,  with  everybody.  Coun- 
try, and  family,  and  the  ease  of  life,  and  the  pleas- 
ure of  being  together — nothing  matters,  if  only  one 
may  get  money !  I  don't  know  but  savages  have 
the  best  of  it.  At  least  they  don't  live  for  money." 

Mrs.  Copley  forgot  at  the  moment  that  she  was 
wishing  her  daughter  to  marry  for  money. 

"  I  counsel  you,  young  man,"  she  began  again. — 
"Money  won't  buy  everything." 

He  laughed  good-humouredly.  "  Can't  buy  much 
without  it — "  he  said,  with  that  shrewd  twinkle  in 
his  eye. 

"  And  what  can  Mr.  Copley  do  for  you,  I  should 
like  to  know  ?  "  she  went  on  impatiently. 

"  He's  put  me  in  a  likely  way,"  said  Kupert.     "I 


RUPERT.  271 

am  very  much  beholden  to  Mr.  Copley.  But  the 
best  thing  he  has  done  for  me  is  this — by  a  long 
jump." 

"This?     What?" 

"  Letting  me  go  along  this  journey.  I  do  not 
think  money  is  the  very  best  of  all  things,"  the 
young  man  said  with  some  spirit. 

"  Letting  you —  Do  you  mean  that  you  are  go- 
ing to  Venice  in  our  party  ?  " 

"  If  it  is  Venice  you  are  going  to." 

Silence  fell.  Mrs.  Copley  pondered  the  news  in 
some  consternation.  To  Dolly  it  was  not  news, 
and  she  did  not  mean  it  should  be  fact,  if  she  could 
help  it. 

"Perhaps  you  have  business  in  Venice?"  Mrs. 
Copley  at  length  ventured. 

"I  hope  it'll  turn  out  so,"  s'aid  Rupert.  "Mr. 
Copley  said  I  might  have  the  pleasure  of  taking 
care  of  you.  I  should  enjoy  that,  I  guess,  more 
than  making  money." 

"  Good  gracious ! "  was  all  the  speech  Mrs.  Copley 
was  capable  of.  She  sat  and  looked  at  the  young 
man.  So,  furtively,  did  Dolly.  He  was  enjoying 
his  supper;  yes,  and  the  prospect  too;  for  a  slight 
flush  had  risen  to  his  feice.  It  was  not  a  symmet- 
rical face,  but  honesty  was  written  in  every  line 
of  it. 

"You've  got  your  plans  fixed?"  Rupert  next  in- 
quired. "  Know  just  which  way  you  are  going  ? 
Be  sure  you  are  right,  and  then  go  ahead,  you 
know." 


272  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  We  take  the  boat  to  Eotterdam,"  said  Dolly. 

"Which  way  then?  Mr.  Copley  told  me  so 
much." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Copley.  "  If  I  could 
once  get  hold  of  Mr.  Copley  we  could  soon  settle  it." 

"What  points  do  you  want  to  make?" 

"  Points  ?  I  don't  want  to  make  any  points.  I 
don't  know  what  you  mean." 

"  I  mean,  where  do  you  want  to  go  in  special, 
between  here  and  Venice  ?  or  are  there  no  places 
you  care  about  ?  " 

"  Places  ?  Oh !—  Well,  yes  there  are.  I  should 
like  to  see  the  place  where  the  battle  of  Waterloo 
was  fought." 

"  Mother,  that  would  be  out  of  our  way,"  said 
Dolly. 

"Which  is  our  way?"  said  Mrs.  Copley.  "I 
thought  we  had  not  fixed  it." 

"You  don't  go  up  the  Rhine,  then?  "  said  Rupert. 

"I'm  going  nowhere  by  boat  except  where  I 
can't  help  myself.  I  like  to  feel  land  under  me. 
No,  we  are  not  going  up  the  Rhine.  I  can  see 
mountains  enough  in  America,  and  rivers  enough 
too." 

Rupert  had  finished  his  supper,  and  took  up  an 
atlas  he  saw  lying  near. 

"Rotterdam" — he  said,  opening  at  the  map  of 
central  Europe, — "  that  is  our  one  fixed  point,  that 
and  Venice.  Now  how  to  get  from  the  one  to  the 
other. —  ". 

Mrs.  Copley  changed  her  seat  to  come  nearer 


RUPERT.  273 

the  map;  and  an  animated  discussion  followed, 
which  kept  her  interested  and  happy  the  whole  of 
the  evening.  Dolly  saw  it  and  was  thankful.  It 
was  more  satisfactory  than  the  former  consultation 
with  St.  Leger,  who  treated  the  subject  from  quite 
too  high  and  lordly  a  point  of  view ;  referring  to 
the  best  hotels  and  assuming  the  easiest  ways  of 
doing  things;  flinging  money  about  him,  in  imag- 
ination, as  Mrs.  Copley  said,  as  if  it  were  coming 
out  of  a  purse  with  no  bottom  to  it;  which  to  be 
sure  might  be  very  true  so  far  as  he  was  con- 
cerned, but  much  discomposed  the  poor  woman 
who  knew  that  on  her  part  such  pleasant  free- 
handedness  was  not  to  be  thought  of.  Eupert 
Babbage  evidently  did  not  think  of  it.  He  con- 
sidered economy.  Besides,  he  was  not  so  distract- 
irigly  au  fait  in  everything;  Mrs.  Copley  could  bear 
a  part  in  the  conversation.  So  she  and  Rupert 
meandered  over  the  map,  talked  endlessly,  took  a 
vast  deal  of  pleasure  in  the  exercise,  and  grew  quite 
accustomed  to  each  other;  while  Dolly  sat  by,  glad 
and  yet  chafing.  Rupert  certainly  was  a  comfort, 
for  the  hour;  but  she  wished  he  had  never  been 
thought  of,  nevertheless. 

But  he  was  a  comfort  next  day  again.  Cheery 
and  busy  and  efficient,  he  managed  people,  sent 
the  luggage  off,  helped  and  waited  upon  Mrs.  Cop- 
ley, and  kept  her  quiet  with  his  talk,  up  to  the 
time  when  the  third  day  they  took  their  places  in 
the  coach. 

"Really,  Mr.  Babbage,  you  are  a  very  handy 

18 


274  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

young  man,"  Mrs.  Copley  once  had  uttered  her  ad- 
miration; and  Rupert  laughed. 

"  I  shouldn't  think  much  of  myself,"  he  said,  "if 
I  couldn't  do  as  much  as  that.  You  see,  I  con- 
sider that  I'm  promoted." 

Dolly  made  the  journey  up  to  town  in  a  state 
between  relief  and  disgust.  Rupert  did  take  a 
world  of  trouble  off  her  hands;  but  she  said  to 
herself  that  she  did  not  want  it  taken  off.  And 
she  certainly  did  not  want  this  long-legged  fellow 
attending  upon  them  everywhere.  It  was  better  to 
have  him  than  St.  Leger ;  that  was  all  you  could 
say. 

The  days  in  London  were  few  and  busy.  Mr. 
Copley  during  this  interval  was  very  affectionate, 
very  kind  and  attentive;  in  fact  so  attentive  to 
supplying  or  providing  against  every  possible  want 
that  he  found  little  time  to  be  with  his  family.  He 
and  Rupert  were  perpetually  flying  out  and  in,  or- 
dering this  and  searching  for  that;  a  sort  of  joyous 
bustle  seemed  to  be  the  order  of  the  day;  for  he 
carried  it  on  gleefully. 

"Why,  Mr.  Copley,"  his  wife  said  when  he  brought 
her  an  elegant  little  leather  case  for  holding  the 
tinctures  and  medicines  in  which  she  indulged,  "  I 
thought  we  must  economize  so  hard  ?  I  thought 
you  had  no  money  now-a-days?  How  is  this,  and 
what  does  it  mean?  this  case  must  have  cost  a 
pound." 

"  You  are  worth  more  than  a  pound,  my  dear," 
Mr.  Copley  said  with  a  sort  of  semi-earnestness. 


RUPERT.  275 

"  But  I  thought  you  were  so  poor  all  of  a  sud- 
den?" 

"  We  are  going  to  turn  a  new  leaf  and  live  fru- 
gally; so  you  see,  on  the  strength  of  that,  we  can 
afford  to  be  extravagant  now  and  then." 

"That  seems  to  me  a  very  doubtful  way,  Mr. 
Copley  !  "  said  his  wife  shaking  her  head. 

"Don't  be  doubtful,  my  dear.  Whatever  else  you 
do,  go  straight  to  your  mark,  and  don't  be  doubt- 
ful. Humming  and  hawing  never  get  on  with 
anything.  Care  killed  a  cat,  my  dear." 

"  It  has  almost  killed  me,"  said  poor  Mrs.  Cop- 
ley. "  Are  we  out  of  need  of  care,  Frank  ?  " 

"  You  are.  I'll  take  all  the  care  for  the  family. 
My  dear,  we  are  going  in  for  play,  and  Venice." 

Dolly  heard  this,  and  felt  a  good  deal  cheered. 
What  was  her  consternation  then,  when  the  day  of 
sailing  came,  and  at  the  last  minute,  on  board  the 
packet,  her  father  declared  he  must  wait ;  he  could 
not  leave  London  yet  for  a  week  or  two,  but  he 
could  not  let  them  be  delayed;  he  would  let  St. 
Leger  go  to  look  after  them,  and  he  would  catch 
them  up  before  they  got  to  Venice.  All  this  was 
said  in  a  breath,  in  a  rush  and  hurry,  at  the  mo- 
ment of  taking  leave;  the  luggage  was  on  board, 
Rupert  was  looking  after  it,  Mr.  St.  Leger's  elegant 
figure  was  just  stepping  across  the  gangway;  and 
Mr.  Copley  kissed  and  shook  hands  and  was  off, 
with  a  word  to  Lawrence  as  he  passed,  before  Mrs. 
Copley  or  Dolly  could  throw  in  more  than  an  ex- 
clamation of  dismay  to  stop  him.  Stop  him !  one 


276  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

might  as  well  stop  a  gust  of  wind.  Dolly  saw  he 
had  planned  it  all;  reckoned  the  minutes,  got  them 
off  on  purpose  without  himself,  and  with'  Mr.  St. 
Leger.  And  here  was  Mr.  St.  Leger  to  be  spoken 
to ;  coming  up  with  his  assured  step  and  his  hand- 
some, indolent  blue  eyes,  to  address  her  mother. 
St.  Leger  was  a  nice  fellow;  he  was  neither  a  fool 
nor  a  coxcomb ;  but  the  sight  of  him  was  very  dis- 
agreeable to  Dolly  just  then.  She  turned  away,  as 
full  of  vexation  as  she  could  hold,  and  went  to  Ru- 
pert's side,  who  was  looking  after  the  luggage. 

"  Do  you  want  to  see  your  berth  right  away  ?  " 
he  asked  her. 

"  My  berth  ?  "  said  Dolly. 

"Well,  yes;  your  cabin — state-room — whatever 
you  call  it — where  you  are  to  sleep.  You  know 
which  it  is;  do  you  know  where  it  is?  I  always 
like  to  get  such  things  straightened  out,  first  thing. 
Would  you  like  to  see  it  ?  " 

"0  yes,  please,"  said  Dolly;  and  grasping  one  of 
the  hand  bags  she  turned  away  gladly  from  the 
deck.  Anything  for  a  little  respite  and  solitude, 
from  Mr.  St.  Leger.  Rupert  found  the  place, 
stowed  bags  and  wraps  and  rugs  conveniently 
away,  and  made  Dolly  as  much  at  home  as  she 
could  be  at  five  minutes'  notice. 

"  How  long  will  the  passage  take  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Well,  if  I  knew  what  the  weather  would  be,  I 
would  tell  you.  Shall  you  be  sick  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Dolly.  "  I  believe  I  wish  I 
may.  Mr.  Babbage,  are  you  a  Christian  ?  " 


RUPERT.  277 

"Well,  I  ain't  a  heathen,  anyhow,"  said  he 
laughing  a  little. 

"No,  but  that  isn't  what  I  mean.  Of  course  you 
are  not  a  heathen.  But  I  mean — do  you  serve  the 
Lord  Jesus,  and  do  you  love  him  ?  " 

Dolly  had  it  not  in  mind  to  make  a  confident  of 
her  new  squire ;  but  in  the  terrible  confusion  and 
trouble  of  her  spirits  she  grasped  at  any  possible 
help  or  stay.  The  excitement  of  the  minute  lifted 
her  quite  out  of  ordinary  considerations;  if  Eupert 
was  a  Christian,  he  might  be  a  stand-by  to  her,  and 
anyhow  would  understand  her.  So  she  asked.  But 
he  looked  at  her  and  shook  his  head.  The  thought 
crossed  him  that  he  was  her  servant,  and  her  ser- 
vice was  all  that  he  was  distinctly  pledged  to  in  his 
own  mind.  He  shook  his  head. 

"Then  what  do  you  do  when  you  are  in  trouble?  " 
she  asked. 

"Never  been  there,"  said  Rupert.  "Always  find 
some  way  out,  when  I  get  into  a  fix.  Why,  are 
you  in  trouble  ?  "  he  asked  sympathetically. 

"  0,"  cried  Dolly,  "  I  am  in  trouble  to  death,  be- 
cause father  hasn't  come  with  us ! "  She  could  bear 
it  no  longer;  even  seventeen  years  old  gives  out 
sometimes ;  she  burst  into  tears  and  sat  down  on  a 
box  and  sobbed.  All  her  hopes  dashed  to  pieces; 
all  her  prospects  dark  and  confused;  nothing  but 
disappointment  and  perplexity  before  her.  What 
should  she  do  with  her  mother,  she  alone  ?  What 
should  she  do  with  Mr.  St.  Leger?  a  still  more  vex- 
atious question.  And  what  would  become  of  her 


278  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

father,  left  to  himself,  and  at  what  possible  time  in 
the  future  might  she  hope  that  he  would  break 
away  from  his  ties  and  temptations  and  come  to 
rejoin  his  family?  Dolly  sobbed  in  sorrow  and  bit- 
terness of  heart.  Rupert  Babbage  stood  and  looked 
on  wofully ;  and  then  delicately  went  out  and  closed 
the  door. 

Dolly's  tears  did  her  good.  I  think  it  was  a 
help  to  her  too  to  know  that  she  had  so  efficient 
and  faithful  a  servant  in  the  despised  Rupert  Bab- 
bage. At  any  rate,  after  a  half  hour  or  so,  she 
made  her  appearance  on  deck  and  met  Mr.  St. 
Leger  with  a  calm  apparent  unconcern  which 
shewed  her  again  equal  to  the  occasion.  Circum- 
stances were  making  a  woman  of  Dolly  fast. 

Mr.  St.  Leger's  talk  had  in  the  mean  time  quieted 
Mrs.  Copley.  He  assured  her  that  her  husband 
would  soon  come  after  and  catch  up  with  them. 
Now  he  turned  his  attention  to  Dolly  and  Rupert. 

"  Who  is  that  fellow  ? "  he  asked  Dolly,  when 
Rupert  had  left  them  for  a  minute. 

"  He  is  a  young  man  in  my  father's  office.  Did 
you  never  see  him  there  ?  " 

"  But  what  is  he  doing  here  ?  We  do  not  want 
him,  it  strikes  me." 

"  He  is  very  useful,  and  able." 

"  Well — aw — but  cannot  he  keep  his  good  quali- 
ties to  their  proper  sphere  ?  He  is  not  an  addition 
of  much  value  to  our  society." 

"Take  care,  Mr.  St.  Leger!  he  is  an  American; 
he  cannot  be  set  down  with  the  servants." 


RUPERT.  279 

"  Why  not  ?  if  his  education  and  habits  make 
that  his  place  ?  " 

"  O  but  they  do  not." 

"  It  seems  to  me  they  do,  if  you  will  pardon  me. 
This  fellow  has  never  been  in  any  gentleman's 
society,  except  your  father's." 

"  He  will  be  a  gentleman  himself,  in  all  essen- 
tials, one  day,  Mr.  St.  Leger.  There  is  the  differ- 
ence. The  capability  is  in  him,  and  the  ambition, 
and  the  independent  and  generous  feeling.  The 
foundations  are  all  there." 

"I'll  confess  the  house  when  I  see  it." 

"Ay,  but  you  must  in  the  mean  time  do  nothing 
to  hinder  its  building." 

"  Why  must  not  I  ? "  said  Lawrence  laughing. 
"  It  is  not  my  part  to  lay  hold  on  a  trowel  and  be 
a  social  mason.  Still  less  is  it  yours." 

"  0,  there  you  are  wrong.  I  think  it  is  every- 
body's part." 

"  Do  you !  But  fancy,  what  a  dreadful  thing  life 
would  be  in  that  way.  Perpetual  rubbish  and  con- 
fusion. And  pardon  me, — can  you  pardon  me  ? — 
that  is  my  idea  of  America." 

"  I  do  not  think  it  is  a  just  one,"  said  Dolly,  as 
Rupert  now  drew  near  again. 

"  Is  there  not  perpetual  building  going  on  there, 
of  this  kind  as  well  as  of  the  more  usual  ?  " 

"  Perhaps.  I  was  very  young  when  I  left  home. 
But  what  then  ?  " 

"Nothing.  I  have  a  preference  for  order  and 
quiet,  and  things  in  their  places." 


280  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  At  that  rate,  you  know,"  said  Dolly,  "  nothing 
would  ever  have  been  built  anywhere.  I  grant  you, 
the  order  and  quiet  are  pleasant  when  your  own 
house  is  all  that  you  desire.  But  don't  you  want 
to  see  your  neighbour's  house  come  up  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Lawrence  laughing.  "  I  have  a  better 
prospect  from  my  windows  if  he  remains  as  he  is." 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

A  SQUARE   PARTY. 

'T^HE  passage  was  stormy  and  long.  Mrs.  Cop- 
1  ley  and  her  daughter  were  both  soon  fully 
occupied  with  attending  to  their  own  sensations; 
and  neither  Rupert  nor  Lawrence  had  any  more 
power  to  annoy  them  till  they  reached  quiet  water 
again.  But  even  in  the  depths  of  sea  misery, 
Dolly's  deeper  distress  broke  forth.  "  My  father ! 
my  father !  What  shall  I  do  to  save  my  father !  " 
she  was  crying  in  her  heart;  all  the  while  with  a 
sense  that  every  hour  was  bringing  her  further 
from  him  and  from  the  chance  of  saving  him. 

Still,  Dolly  was  seventeen ;  and  at  seventeen  one 
cannot  be  always  cast  down;  and  when  rough  water 
and  troubled  skies,  and  ship  noises  and  smells,  were 
all  left  behind,  as  it  seemed,  in  the  German  ocean ; 
and  Dolly  found  herself  one  morning  in  the  hotel 
at  Rotterdam,  eating  a  very  good  breakfast,  her 
spirits  sprang  up  in  spite  of  herself.  The  retiring 
wave  of  bodily  misery  carried  with  it  for  the  mo- 
ment all  other.  The  sun  was  shining  again;  and 
after  breakfast  they  stood  together  at  one  of  the 
windows  looking  out  upon  the  new  world  they  had 
come  to.  Their  hotel  faced  the  quay;  they  saw 


282  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

before  them  an  extent  of  water  glittering  in  the 
sunshine,  steamers  waiting  for  their  time  of  sail- 
ing, small  craft  flying  about  in  all  directions,  and 
activity,  bustle,  and  business  filling  every  nook 
and  corner  of  the  scene.  Dolly's  heart  leaped  up: 
the  stir  was  very  inspiriting;  and  how  lovely  the 
sunshine  was,  and  how  pleasant  the  novelty !  And 
then,  to  think  that  she  had  but  touched  the  shore 
of  novelty ;  that  all  central  Europe  was  behind  her 
as  she  stood  looking  out  on  the  quay — Her  father 
would  surely  catch  them  up  somewhere,  and  then 
all  would  go  well.  She  was  silent,  in  the  full  joy 
of  seeing. 

"  What's  the  next  move  ?  "  said  Lawrence.  He 
did  not  care  for  Rotterdam  quay.  He  had  been 
looking  at  Dolly,  charmed  with  the  delicate,  fresh 
picture  she  made.  The  line  of  frank  pleasure  on 
her  lips,  it  was  as  frank  as  a  child's,  and  the  eyes 
weje  as  absorbed;  and  yet  they  were  grave  wom- 
anly eyes,  he  knew,  not  easy  to  cheat,  with  all  their 
simplicity.  The  mingling  of  qualities  was  delicious, 
and  not  to  be  found  elsewhere  in  all  his  sphere  of 
experience.  Even  her  little  hands  were  full  of  char- 
acter, with  a  certain  precision  of  action  and  calm 
of  repose  which  gave  to  all  their  movements  a  -cer- 
tain thorough-bred  grace,  which  Lawrence  could 
recognize  though  he  could  not  analyse.  Then  the 
little  head  with  its  masses  of  wavy  hair  was  so 
lovely,  and  the  slim  figure  so  full  of  that  same  cer- 
tainty of  action  and  grace  of  rest  which  he  ad- 
mired; there  was  nothing  undecided  about  Dolly, 


A  SQUARE  PARTY.  283 

and  yet  there  was  nothing  done  by  rule.  That 
again  was  a  combination  he  did  not  know  else- 
where. Her  dress — he  considered  that  too.  It  was 
the  simplest  of  travelling  dresses,  with  nothing  to 
mark  it,  or  draw  attention,  or  make  it  unfit  for  its 
special  use.  In  perfectly  good  taste.  How  did  she 
know?  thought  Lawrence;  for  he  knew  as  well  as 
I  do  that  she  had  not  learned  it  of  her  mother. 
There  was  nothing  marked  about  Mrs.  Copley's  ap- 
pearance; nevertheless  she  lacked  that  harmony 
of  simple  good  taste  which  was  all  over  Dolly. 
Lawrence  looked,  until  he  saw  that  Rupert  was 
looking  too ;  and  then  he  thought  it  was  time  to 
break  up  the  exercise.  "What  is  the  next  move  ?  " 
he  said. 

"  We  have  not  settled  that,"  said  Dolly.  "  We 
could  think  of  nothing  on  board  ship.  Mother 
dear,  now  we  are  here,  which  way  shall  we  go  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  ways,"  said  Mrs. 
Copley.  "Not  here,  in  this  strange  country." 

"Then  put  it  another  way,"  said  Lawrence. 
"  Where  do  you  want  to  go  ?  " 

"  Why,  to  Venice,"  said  Mrs.  Copley  looking  at 
him. 

"  Of  course ;  but  you  want  to  see  something  by 
the  way  ?  " 

"I  left  all  that  to  Mr.  Copley,"  said  she,  half 
whimpering.  "  When  do  you  think  he  will  come, 
Mr.  St.  Leger?  I  depended  on  my  husband." 

"  He  will  come  soon,"  said  Lawrence.  "  But  I 
would  not  recommend  staying  in  Rotterdam  to 


284  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

wait  for  him.  What  do  you  say  to  our  asking 
him  to  meet  us  in  Wiesbaden?  To  be  sure,  the 
season  is  over." 

"  Wiesbaden  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Copley. 

"Wiesbaden?"  cried  Dolly.  "O  no,  Mr.  St. 
Leger !  Not  there,  nor  in  any  such  place  !  " 

"  The  season  is  over,  Miss  Dolly." 

"I  don't  want  to  go  to  Wiesbaden.  Mother,  you 
wanted  to  see  something — what  was  it  ?  " 

"  Waterloo — "  Mrs.  Copley  began. 

"  That  would  take  us  out  of  the  way  of  every- 
thing— down  into  Belgium — and  you  would  not 
see  anything  when  you  got  there,  Mrs.  Copley. 
Only  some  fields;  there  is  nothing  left  of  the 
battle." 

"But  if  I  saw  the  fields,  I  could  imagine  the 
battle,"  said  Mrs.  Copley. 

"  Could  you  ?  Let  us  imagine  something  pleas- 
anter.  You  don't  want  to  go  up  the  Ehine  ?  " 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  anywhere*  in  a  boat,  Mr.  St. 
Leger.  I  am  going  to  keep  on  land,  now  I've  got 
there.  But  I  was  thinking —  Somebody  told  me 
of  some  wonderful  painted  glass,  somewhere  near 
Kotterdam,  and  told  me  not  to  miss  seeing  it. 
Where  is  it?" 

"I  know,"  said  Dolly;  "the  place  was  Gonda;  in 
the  cathedral.  But  where  is  Gonda  ?  " 

"  Nine  miles  off,"  said  Rupert. 

"  Then  that's  where  I  want  to  go,"  said  Mrs.  Cop- 
ley. "  I  have  heard  all  my  life  of  painted  glass ; 
now  I  should  like  to  see  what  it  amounts  to." 


A  SQUARE  PARTY.  285 

"  Perhaps  that  would  take  us  out  of  our  way  too, 
mother." 

"  I  thought  we  just  said  we  had  no  way  settled," 
said  Mrs.  Copley  in  an  irritated  tone.  "  What's  the 
use  of  being  here,  if  we  can't  see  anything  now  we 
are  here  ?  Nine  miles  isn't  much,  anyhow." 

"We  will  go  there,  dear,"  said  Dolly.  "We 
can  go  so  far  and  come  back  to  this  place,  if  nec- 
essary." 

"  And  there  is  another  thing  I  want  to  see,  now 
we  are  here,"  Mrs.  Copley  went  on.  "  I  want  to  go 
to  Dresden." 

"  Dresden ! "  cried  St.  Leger.  "  What's  at  Dres- 
den?" 

"A  great  many  things,  I  suppose;  but  what  I 
want  to  see  is  the  Green  vaults  and  the  picture 
gallery." 

"Mrs.  Copley,"  said  Lawrence  quietly,  "there 
are  galleries  of  pictures  everywhere.  We  shall 
find  them  at  every  step  —  more  than  you  will 
want  to  look  at,  by  a  hundred  fold." 

"  But  we  shall  not  find  Green  vaults,  shall  we  ? 
And  you  will  not  tell  me  that  the  Dresden  ma- 
donna is  anywhere  but  at  Dresden?" 

"  I  did  not  know  you  cared  so  much  about  pict- 
ures, mother,"  Dolly  ventured. 

"I  don't!"  said  Mrs.  Copley, — "not  about  the 
pictures;  but  I  don't  like  to  be  here  and  not  see 
what  there  is  to  see.  I  like  to  say  I  have  seen  it. 
It  would  be  absurd  to  be  here  and  not  see  things. 
Your  father  told  me  to  go  just  where  I  wanted 


286  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

to;  and  if  I  don't  go  to  Waterloo,  I  want  to  see 
Dresden." 

"And  from  there?"  said  Lawrence. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  suppose  we  can  find  our  way 
from  there  to  Venice  somehow." 

"But  do  you  not  include  Cologne  cathedral  in 
the  things  you  wish  to  see?" 

"  Cologne  ?  I  don't  know  about  cathedrals.  We 
are  going  to  see  one  now,  aren't  we  ?  Isn't  one  as 
good  as  another  ?  " 

"  To  pray  in,  I  have  no  doubt,"  said  Lawrence ; 
"but  hardly  to  look  at." 

"Well,  you  don't  think  churches  ought  to  be 
built  to  look  at,  do  you  ?  I  think  that  is  wicked. 
Churches  are  meant  for  something." 

"  You  would  not  object  to  looking  at  them  when 
they  are  built?  would  you?  Here  we  are  now, 
going  to  see  Gonda  cathedral." 

"No,  I  am  not,"  said  Mrs.  Copley.  "I  am  going 
to  see  the  glass  windows.  We  shall  not  see  them 
to-day  if  we  stand  here  talking." 

Lawrence  ordered  a  carriage,  and  the  party  set 
out.  He  wished  devoutly  that  it  had  numbered 
five  instead  of  four,  so  that  Eupert  could  have 
been  sent  outside.  But  the  carnage  held  them  all 
comfortably. 

Dolly  was  a  little  uneasy  at  the  travelling  prob- 
lem before  her;  however,  no  uneasiness  could 
stand  long  against  the  charm  of  that  morning's 
drive.  The  blessed  familiar  sun  shone  on  a  world 
so  very  different  from  all  the  world  she  had  ever 


A  SQUARE  PARTY.  287 

known  before.  On  every  hand  were  flower  gar- 
dens ;  on  both  sides  of  the  way ;  and  in  the  midst 
of  the  flower  gardens  stood  pleasant  looking  coun- 
try houses;  while  the  road  was  bordered  with  nar- 
row canals,  over  which  drawbridges  of  extrava- 
gant size  led  to  the  houses.  It  was  a  rich  and 
quaint  and  pretty  landscape  under  the  September 
sun;  and  Dolly  felt  all  concern  and  annoyance 
melting  away  from  her.  She  saw  that  her  mother 
too  was  amused  and  delighted.  Surely  things 
would  come  out  right  by  and  by. 

The  town  interested  three  of  the  party  in  a  high 
degree. 

"Well!"  said  Mrs.  Copley,  "haven't  they  learned 
here  yet  to  turn  the  front  of  their  houses  to  the 
street  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  they  never  will,"  said  Lawrence. 
"Why  should  they?" 

"  Because  things  ought  to  be  right,  if  it  is  only 
the  fronts  of  houses,"  said  the  lady. 

"  I  wouldn't  mind  which  way  they  looked,  if 
they  would  only  hold  up  straight,"  said  Rupert. 
"  What  ails  the  town  ?  " 

"Bad  soil,  most  likely,"  returned  Lawrence. 
"The  foundations  of  Holland  are  moral,  not 
physical."  t 

"What  do«you  mean  by  that?"  said  Mrs.  Cop- 
ley. "  I  am  sure  they  have  plenty  of  money.  Is 
this  the  cathedral  we  are  coming  to  ? " 

"St.  Jans  Kirk — ." 

"  W^ell  if  that's  all !     It  isn't  handsome  a  bit ! " 


288  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"It's  real  homely,  that's  a  fact,"  said  Rupert. 

"You  came  to  see  the  glass  windows,"  said 
Lawrence.  "Let  us  go  in,  and  then  pass  judg- 
ment." 

They  went  in,  and  then  a  low  exclamation  from 
Rupert  was  all  that  was  heard.  The  ladies  were 
absolutely  mute  before  the  blaze  of  beauty  that 
met  them. 

"  Well ! "  said  Rupert  after  a  pause  of  deep  si- 
lence— "  now  I  know  what  folks  mean  when  they 
say  something  '  beats  the  Dutch.'  That  beats  all 
/  ever  saw ! — hollow." 

"  But  how  delicious !  "  exclaimed  Dolly.  "  The 
work  is  so  delicate.  And  oh,  the  colours !  Moth- 
er, do  you  see  that  purple?  Who  is  the  person 
represented  there,  Mr.  St.  Leger  ?  " 

"That  is  Philip  the  Second.  And  it  is  not 
likely,  I  may  remark,  that  any  Dutchman  painted 
it.  That  broken  window  was  given  to  the  church 
by  Philip." 

"  Who  did  paint  it,  then?  " 

"  I  cannot  say,  really." 

"  What  a  pity  it  is  broken !  " 

"  But  the  others  are  mostly  in  very  good  keep- 
ing. Come  on — here  is  the  Duke  of  Alva." 

"  If  I  were  a  Dutchwoman,  I  would  break  that," 
said  Dolly. 

"  No,  you  wouldn't.  Consider — he  serves  as  an 
adornment  of  the  city  here.  Breaking  his  effigy 
would  not  be  breaking  At'ra,  Miss  Dolly." 

"It  must  be  a  very  strange  thing  to  live  in  an 


A  SQUARE  PARTY.  289 

old  country,"  said  Dolly.  "  I  mean,  if  you  belong 
to  it.  Just  look  at  these  windows! — How  old  is 
the  work  itself,  Mr.  St.  Leger  ?  " 

"I  am  not  wise  in  such  things; — I  should  say 
it  must  date  from  the  best  period  of  the  art.  I 
believe  it  is  said  so." 

"  And  when  was  that  ?  " 

"  Really,  I  don't  know ;  a  good  while  ago,  Miss 
Dolly." 

"  Philip  II.  came  to  reign  about  the  middle  of 
the  sixteenth  century,"  Rupert  remarked. 

"  Exactly — "  St.  Leger  said,  looking  annoyed. 

"Well,  sir,"  Rupert  went  on,  "I  would  like  to 
ask  you  one  thing — can't  they  paint  as  good  a 
glass  window  now  as  they  could  then  ?  " 

"They  may  paint  a  better  glass  window,  for 
aught  I  know,"  said  Lawrence ;  "  but  the  painting 
will  not  be  so  good." 

"  That's  curious,"  said  Rupert.  "  I  thought  things 
went  for'ard,  and  not  back,  in  the  world.  Why 
shouldn't  they  paint  as  well  now  as  ever  ?  " 

Nobody  spoke. 

"  Why  should  they  not,  Mr.  St.  Leger  ?  "  Dolly 
repeated. 

"I  don't  know,  I'm  sure.  Mrs.  Copley,  I'm 
afraid  you  are  fatiguing  yourself." 

Mrs.  Copley  yielded  to  this  gentle  suggestion; 
and  long,  long  before  Dolly  was  ready  to  go,  the 
party  left  the  church  to  repair  to  a  hotel,  and  have 
some  refreshment.  They  were  all  in  high  spirits 
by  this  time. 
19 


290  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  Is  it  settled  where  we  are  to  go  next  ? "  Mr. 
St.  Leger  inquired  as  they  sat  at  table. 

"I  don't  care  where  next"  said  Mrs.  Copley; 
"but  only  I  want  to  come  out  at  Dresden." 

"  But  Dresden,  mother — "  said  Dolly  gently.  "  It 
is  not  in  our  way  to  Venice."  She  interpreted  the 
expression  she  saw  in  Lawrence's  face. 

"  Dolly,  the  Green  vaults  are  in  Dresden.  I  am 
not  going  to  be  so  near  and  not  see  them.  Wasn't 
I  right  about  the  painted  windows  ?  I  never  saw 
anything  so  beautiful  in  my  life,  nor  you  didn't. 
I  wouldn't  have  missed  it  for  anything.  Now 
you'll  see  if  I  ain't  right  about  the  Green  vaults." 

"  What  do  you  expect  to  find  in  them  ? "  Law- 
rence asked.  "  I  do  not  remember  anything  about 
such  a  mysterious  place." 

"I  have  heard  about  it  in  London,"  Mrs.  Copley 
answered.  "Somebody  who  had  been  there  told 
me  about  it,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  I'd  see  it  if 
ever  I  got  a  chance.  It  is  like  having  Aladdin's 
lamp  and  going  down  into  Ms  vault — only  you 
can't  take  away  what  you've  a  mind  to ;  that's  the 
only  difference." 

"  But  what  is  there  ?  Aladdin's  grotto  was  full 
of  precious  stones,  if  I  remember." 

"And  so  are  these,"  cried  Mrs.  Copley.  "There 
is  an  egg  with  a  hen  in  it." 

At  this  there  was  a  general  laugh. 

"  It's  a  fact,"  said  Mrs.  Copley.  "  And  in  the 
hen,  or  under  it, — in  the  hen,  I  believe, — there  is  a 
crown  of  gold  and  diamonds  and  pearls,  with  a 


A  SQUARE  PARTY.  291 

motto.     0    it's    wonderful.     It's    better   than    the 
Arabian  Nights,  if  it's  true." 

"  Except  that  we  cannot  take  the  egg  away  with 
us,"  said  Lawrence.  "  However —  Pray,  do  they 
let  in  the  indiscriminate  public  to  see  these  won- 
ders ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  suppose  there  are  ways  to 
get  in,  or  nobody  would  have  been  in." 

"No  doubt;  the  problem  is,  to  find  the  way. 
Influence  may  be  necessary,  possibly." 

"  I  dare  say  Mr.  Copley  can  manage  it.  Do 
write  and  ask  him  what  we  must  do,  Dolly;  and 
ask  him  to  send  us  letters,  or  leave,  or  whatever 
we  must  have.  Write  to-day,  will  you?  and  ask 
him  to  send  it  right  away.  Of  course  there  are 
ways  to  do  things." 

"May  1  make  a  suggestion?"  said  Lawrence. 
"  If  we  are  to  go  on  to  Dresden,  why  should  we 
return  to  Rotterdam  ?  We  might  send  back  to  the 
hotel  for  our  luggage,  and  meanwhile  you  can  rest 
here.  And  then  we  can  go  on  to  Utrecht  early  to- 
morrow; or  this  evening,  if  you  like.  It  would 
save  time." 

This  plan  met  approval.  Eupert  volunteered  to 
go  back  and  bring  Mrs.  Copley's  belongings  safely 
to  Gonda. 

"And  while  you  are  about  it,  bring  mine  too, 
my  good  fellow,  will  you  ?  "  said  St.  Leger  as  Ru- 
pert was  about  to  go.  He  spoke  somewhat  super- 
ciliously, but  the  other  answered  with  cool  good 
humour, 


292  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"All  right.  I'll  do  that,  on  the  understanding 
that  you'll  do  as  much  for  me  next  time."  And  he 
went. 

"  Confound  him  !  "  said  Lawrence ;  while  Dolly 
smiled.  "  Hush !  "  she  said.  "  I  am  sure  that  is  a 
fair  bargain." 

"  Where  did  Mr.  Copley  pick  up  such  a  green 
hand?" 

"  Did  you  never  see  him  at  the  office  ?  " 

"  What  office  ?  " 

"The  consul's  office,  in  London.  You  have  been 
there  enough." 

"0,  ah — the  consul's  office,"  said  Lawrence. 
"True,  if  he  was  there  I  must  have  seen  him. 
But  what  do  we  want  of  him  here  ?  " 

"  He  is  useful  to  you  just  now,"  said  Dolly. 

But  afterwards  she  took  up  the  question  again, 
and,  what  Lawrence  did  not  dream  of,  included  his 
name  in  it.  Why  was  either  of  these  young  men 
there?  This  time  of  waiting  at  the  hotel  gave 
Dolly  a  chance  to  think ;  and  while  she  sat  at  the 
window  and  watched  the  strange  figures  and  novel 
sights  in  the  street,  her  mind  began  to  go  over 
more  questions  than  one.  She  felt  in  a  sort  lost 
without  her  father.  Here  were  she  and  her  mother 
taking  a  journey  through  Europe  in  the  care  of 
these  two  young  men.  What  were  they  there  for? 
Eupert  certainly  for  her  pleasure  and  service,  she 
knew ;  Lawrence,  she  was  equally  sure,  for  his  own. 
How  should  she  manage  them  ?  for  Lawrence  must 
not  be  encouraged,  while  at  the  same  time  he  could 


A  SQUARE  PARTY.  293 

not  be  sent  away.  At  least,  not  yet.  Careful,  and 
cool,  and  womanly,  she  must  be;  and  that  was  not 
so  very  difficult,  for  poor  Dolly  felt  as  if  glad  child- 
ish days  were  past  for  her. 

Another  question  was,  how  she  should  get  the 
most  good  of  her  journey,  and  how  she  could  help 
Rupert,  who  she  could  see  was  on  the  watch  to 
improve  himself.  Dolly  had  a  sympathy  for  him. 
She  resolved  that  she  would  study  up  every  sub- 
ject that  presented  itself,  and  set  Rupert  upon 
doing  the  same.  St.  Leger  might  take  care  of 
himself.  Yet  Dolly's  conscience  would  not  let 
him  go  so.  No;  one  can  be  nobody's  travelling 
companion  for  days  or  weeks,  without  having 
duties  to  fulfil  towards  him;  but  Dolly  thought 
the  duties  were  very  difficult  in  this  her  particular 
case.  If  her  father  would  but  come !  And  there- 
with Dolly  sat  down  and  wrote  him  the  tender- 
est,  lovingest  of  letters,  telling  him  about  their 
journey,  and  the  glass  windows;  and  begging 
him  to  meet  them  in  Dresden  or  before,  so  that 
they  might  see  the  fabulous  Green  vaults  together. 
In  any  case,  she  begged  him  to  make  such  provi- 
sion that  Mrs.  Copley  might  not  be  disappointed 
of  seeing  them.  All  Dolly's  eloquence  and  some 
tears  were  poured  out  upon  that  sheet  of  paper; 
and  as  she  sealed  it  up  she  felt  again  that  she 
was  surely  growing  to  be  a  woman ;  the  days  of 
her  childhood  were  gone. 

Not  so  far  off  however,  but  that  Dolly's  spirits 
sprang  up  again  after  the  letter  was  despatched, 


294  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

and  were  able  to  take  exquisite  pleasure  in  every- 
thing the  further  journey  offered.  Even  the  un- 
attractive was  novel,  and  what  was  not  unattrac- 
tive was  so  charming.  She  admired  the  quaint, 
clean,  bright,  fanciful  Dutch  towns;  the  abundance 
of  flowers  still  to  be  seen  abroad ;  the  smiling  coun- 
try places  surrounding  the  towns;  the  strange 
carvings  and  devices  on  the  houses;  the  crooked 
streets. 

"You  are  the  first  person  I  ever  saw,"  Lawrence 
said  admiringly,  "who  found  beauty  in  crooked 
streets." 

"  Do  you  like  straight  ones  ?  "  said  Dolly. 

"  Certainly.     Why  not  ?  " 

"You  look  from  end  to, end;  you  see  all  there 
is  at  once ;  walk  and  walk  as  you  may,  there  is  no 
change,  but  the  same  wearisome  lines  of  houses. 
Now  when  streets  are  not  straight,  but  have  wind- 
ings and  turnings,  you  are  always  coming  to  some- 
thing new." 

"  I  suppose  you  like  them  to  be  up  hill  and  down 
too  ?  " 

"  0  very  much  !  " 

"  You  do  not  find  that  in  Holland." 

"No,  but  in  Boston." 

"  Ah,  indeed !  "  said  Lawrence. 

"  I  wonder,"  Dolly  went  on,  "  what  makes  one 
nation  so  different  from  another.  You  are  on  an 
island ;  but  here  there  is  only  a  line  between  Hol- 
land and  Germany,  and  the  people  are  not  alike." 

"  Comes  from  what  they  eat,"  said  Lawrence. 


A  SQUARE  PARTY.  295 

"  Their  food  ?  "  said  Dolly. 

"Yes.  The  Scotchman  lives  upon  porridge,  the 
Englishman  on  beef  and  porter,  the  German  on 
sausages  and  beer." 

"The  French?" 

"  0,  on  soup  and  salad  and  sour  wine." 

"  And  Italians  ?  " 

"  On  grapes  and  olives." 

"That  will  do  to  talk  about,"  said  Dolly;  "but 
it  does  not  touch  the  question." 

"  Not  touch  the  question  !  I  beg  your  pardon — 
but  it  does  touch  it  most  essentially.  Do  you 
think  it  makes  no  difference  to  a  man  what  sort 
of  a  dinner  he  eats  ?  " 

"A  great  difference  to  some  men;  but  does  it 
make  much  difference  in  him  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Eupert;  and  "Yes!  "  said  Lawrence, 
with  a  unanimity  which  made  Dolly  smile.  "  I 
can  tell  you,"  the  latter  went  on,  "a  man  is  one 
thing  or  another  for  the  day,  according  to  whether 
he  has  had  a  good  breakfast  or  a  bad  one." 

"  I  understand.     That's  temper." 

"It  is  not  temper  at  all.  It  is  physical  con- 
dition." 

"  It's  feeling  put  to  'rights,  I  think,"  said  Ru- 
pert. 

"  I  suppose  all  these  people  are  suited,  in  their 
several  ways,"  said  Dolly.  "Will  mother  like 
Venice,  Mr.  St.  Leger,  when  we  get  there  ?  What 
is  it  like  ?  " 

"Like  a  city  afloat.      You  will  like  it,  for  the 


296  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

strangeness  and  the  beautiful  things  you  will  find 
there.  I  can't  say  about  Mrs.  Copley,  I'm  sure." 

"  What  do  they  drink  there  ? "  said  Rupert. 
"  Water  ?  " 

"Well,  not  exactly.  You  can  judge  for  your- 
self, my  good  fellow." 

"  But  that  is  Italy,"  said  Dolly.  "  I  suppose 
there  is  no  beer  or  porter  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  can  find  it,  of  course,  if  you  want 
it;  there  are  people  enough  coming  and  going  that 
do  want  it ;  but  in  Venice  you  can  have  pure  wine, 
and  at  a  reasonable  price,  too." 

"  At  hotels,  of  course,"  said  Dolly  faintly. 

"Of  course,  at  some  of  them.  But  I  was  not 
thinking  of  hotels." 

"  Of  what  then  ?  " 

"Wine  shops.'' 

"Wine  shops!  Not  for  people  Avho  only  want 
a  glass,  or  two  glasses  ?  " 

"Just  for  them.  A  glass  or  two,  or  half  a 
dozen." 

"  Restaurants,  you  mean  ?  " 

"  No,  I  do  not  mean  restaurants.  They  are  just 
wine  shops;  sell  nothing  but  wine.  Odd  little 
places.  There's  no  show;  there's  no  set  out;  there 
are  just  the  casks  from  which  the  wine  is  drawn, 
and  the  glasses — mugs,  I  should  say;  queer  things; 
pints  and  quarts,  and  so  on.  Nothing  else  is  there, 
but  the  customers  and  the  people  who  serve  you." 

"  And  people  go  into  such  places  to  drink  wine  ? 
merely  to  drink,  without  eating  anything." 


A  SQUARE  PARTY.  297 

"They  can  eat,  if  they  like.  There  are  street 
venders,  that  watch  the  custom  and  come  in  im- 
mediately after  any  one  enters;  they  bring  fruit 
and  confections  and  trifles." 

"You  do  not  mean  that  gentlemen  go  to  these 
places,  Mr.  St.  Leger?" 

"  Certainly.  The  wine  is  pure,  and  sold  at  a 
reasonable  rate.  Gentlemen  go  of  course — if  they 
know  where  to  go." 

Dolly's  heart  sank.  In  Venice  this ! — where  she 
had  hoped  to  have  her  father  with  her  safe.  She 
had  known  there  was  wine  enough  to  be  had  in 
hotels ;  but  that,  she  knew  too,  costs  money,  if  peo- 
ple will  have  it  good;  and  Mr.  Copley  liked  no 
other.  But  cheap  wine  shops,  "  if  you  know  where 
to  go," — therefore  retired  and  comparatively  pri- 
vate places, — were  those  to  be  found  in  Venice,  the 
goal  of  her  hopes?  Dolly's  cheeks  grew  percep- 
tibly pale. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Miss  Dolly  ? "  Lawrence 
asked,  watching  her.  But  Dolly  could  not  answer; 
and  she  thought  he  knew,  besides. 

"  There  is  no  harm  in  pure  wine,"  he  went  on. 

Dolly  flashed  a  look  at  him  upon  that,  a  most 
involuntary,  innocent  look ;  yet  one  which  he  would 
have  worked  half  a  day  for  if  it  could  have  been 
obtained  so.  It  was  eloquent,  it  was  brilliant,  it 
was  tender;  it  carried  a  fiery  appeal  against  the 
truth  of  his  words,  and  at  the  same  time  a  most 
moving  deprecation  of  his  acting  in  consonance 
with  them.  She  dared  not  speak  plainer,  and  she 


298  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

could  not  have  spoken  plainer,  if  she  had  talked 
for  an  hour.  Lawrence  would  have  urged  further 
his  view  of  the  subject,  but  that  look  stopped  him. 
Indeed  the  beauty  of  it  put  for  the  moment  the 
occasion  of  it  out  of  his  head. 

Thanks  to  Rupert's  efficient  agency,  they  were 
able  to  spend  that  night  at  Utrecht,  and  the  next 
day  went  on.  It  seemed  to  Dolly  that  every  hour 
was  separating  her  further  from  her  father ;  which 
to  be  sure  literally  was  true ;  nevertheless  she  had 
to  give  herself  up  to  the  witchery  of  that  drive. 
The  varied  beauty  and  the  constant  novelty  on 
every  hand  were  a  perpetual  entertainment.  Mrs. 
Copley  even  forgot  herself  and  her  grievances  in 
looking  out  of  the  carriage  windows;  indeed  the 
only  trouble  she  gave  was  in  her  frequent  chang- 
ing places  with  Dolly  to  secure  now  this  and  now 
that  view. 

"  We  haven't  got  such  roads  in  Massachusetts," 
remarked  Rupert.  "This  is  Avhat  I  call  first-rate 
going." 

"Have  you  got  such  anything  else  there?"  Law- 
rence inquired  smoothly. 

"  Not  such  land,  I'm  bound  to  say." 

"  No,"  said  Dolly,  "  this  is  not  in  the  least  like 
Massachusetts,  in  anything.  0  mother,  look  at 
those  cattle!  why  there  must  be  thousands  of 
them;  how  beautiful!  You  would  not  find  such 
an  immense  level  green  plain  in  Massachusetts, 
Mr.  St.  Leger.  I  never  saw  such  a  one  anywhere." 

Mrs.  Copley  took  that  side  of  the  carriage. 


A  SQUARE  PARTY.  299 

"  It  wouldn't  be  used  for  a  pasture  ground,  if  we 
had  it  there,"  said  Eupert. 

"Perhaps  it  would.  I  fancy  it  is  too  wet  for 
grain,"  St.  Leger  answered. 

"  Now  here  is  a  lake  again,"  said  Dolly.  "  How 
large,  and  how  pretty.  Miles  and  miles,  it  must 
be.  How  pretty  those  little  islands  are,  Mr.  Bab- 
bage." 

Mrs.  Copley  exchanged  again,  and  immediately 
burst  out — 

"Dolly,  Dolly,  did  you  see  that  woman's  ear- 
rings? I  declare  they  were  a  foot  long." 

"I  beg  your  pardon — half  a  foot,  Mrs.  Copley." 

"What  do  you  suppose  they  are  made  of?" 

"  True  gold  or  silver." 

"Mercy!  that's  the  oddest  thing  I've  seen  yet. 
I  suppose  Holland  is  a  very  rich  country." 

"And  here  come  country  houses  and  gardens 
again,"  said  Dolly.  "There's  a  garden  filled  with 
mai-ble  statues,  mother." 

Mrs.  Copley  shifted  her  seat  to  the  other  side  to 
look  at  the  statues,  and  directly  after  went  back 
to  see  some  curiously  trimmed  yews  in  another 
garden.  So  it  went  on ;  Dolly  and  her  mother  get- 
ting a  good  deal  of  exercise  by  the  way.  Mrs. 
Copley  was  ready  for  her  dinner,  and  enjoyed  it ; 
and  Dolly  perceiving  this  enjoyed  hers  too." 

Then  they  were  delighted  with  Arnheim.  They 
drove  into  the  town  towards  evening;  and  the 
quaint,  picturesque  look  of  the  place,  lying  bright 
in  the  sunshine  of  a  warm  September  day,  took  the 


300  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

hearts  of  both  ladies.  The  odd  gables,  the  endless 
variety  of  building,  the  balconies  hung  with  climb- 
ing vines;  and  above  all,  the  little  gardens,  gay 
with  fall  flowers  and  furnished  with  arbours  or 
some  sort  of  shelter,  under  some  of  which  people 
were  taking  tea,  while  in  others  the  wooden  tables 
and  chairs  stood  ready  though  empty,  testifying  to 
a  good  deal  of  habitual  out-of-door  life ;  they  stirred 
Dolly's  fancy  and  Mrs.  Copley's  curiosity.  Both  of 
them  were  glad  to  spend  the  night  in  such  a  pretty 
place. 

After  they  had  had  supper  comfortably,  Dolly 
left  her  mother  talking  to  St.  Leger  and  slipped 
out  quietly  to  take  a  walk,  having  privately  sum- 
moned Rupert  to  attend  her.  The  walk  was  full 
of  enjoyment.  It  lasted  a  good  while;  till  Dolly 
began  to  grow  a  little  tired,  and  the  evening  light 
was  dying  away;  then  the  steps  slackened  which 
had  been  very  brisk  at  setting  out,  and  Dolly 
began  to  let  her  thoughts  go  beyond  what  was 
immediately  before  her.  She  was  very  much  in- 
clined to  be  glad  now  of  Rupert's  presence  in  the 
party.  She  perceived  that  he  was  already  devoted 
to  her  service;  not  with  Mr.  St.  Leger's  pretensions, 
but  with  something  more  like  the  adoration  a  hea- 
then devotee  pays  to  his  goddess.  Rupert  already 
watched  her  eyes  and  followed  her  wishes,  some- 
times before  they  were  spoken.  It  was  plain  that 
she  might  rely  upon  him  for  all  to  which  his  powers 
would  reach;  and  a  strong  element  of  good  will 
began  to  mix  with  her  confidence  in  him.  What 


A  SQUARE  PARTY.  301 

could  she  do,  to  help  make  this  journey  a  benefit 
to  the  boy.  He  had  known  little  of  good  or  gentle 
influences  in  his  life ;  yet  he  was  gentle  himself  and 
much  inclined  to  be  good,  she  thought.  And  he 
might  be  very  important  to  her  yet,  before  she  got 
home. 

"  I  don't  know  the  first  thing  about  this  country," 
he  broke  the  silence.  "  It  was  always  a  little  spot 
in  the  corner  of  the  map  that  I  thought  was  no 
sort  of  count.  Why  it's  a  grand  place !  " 

"  You  ought  to  read  about  it  in  history." 

"  I  never  read  much  history,  that's  a  fact,"  Rupert 
answered.  "  Never  had  much  to  read,"  he  added 
with  a  laugh.  "Fact  is,  my  life  up  to  how  has 
been  pretty  much  of  a  scrimmage  for  the  needful." 

"  Knowledge  is  needful,"  said  Dolly. 

".That's  a  fact;  but  a  fellow  must  live  first,  you 
see.  And  that  warn't  always  easy  once." 

"  And  what  are  your  plans  or  prospects  ?  What 
do  you  mean  to  be — or  do  ?  what  do  you  mean  to 
make  of  yourself?  " 

Rupert  half  laughed.  "  I  haven't  any  prospects — 
to  speak  of.  In  fact  I  don't  see  ahead  any  further 
than  Venice.  As  to  what  I  am  to  be,  or  do, — I 
expect  that  will  be  settled  without  any  choice  of 
mine.  I've  got  along,  so  far,  somehow;  I  guess 
I'll  get  along  yet." 

"Are  you  a  Christian?"  Dolly  asked,  following  a 
sudden  impulse. 

"  I  guess  I  ain't  what  you  mean  by  that." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  it  ?  " 


302  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  Well — where  I  come  from,  they  call  Christians, 
folks  that  have  j'ined  the  church." 

"  That's  making  a  profession — "  said  Dolly. 

"Yes — I've  heard  folks  call  it  that." 

"  But  what  is  the  reality  ?  What  do  you  think 
a  man  professes  when  he  joins  the  church." 

"  I'll  be  shot  if  I  know,"  Rupert  answered,  look- 
ing at  her  hard  in  the  fading  light.  "I'd  like  first 
rate  to  hear  you  say." 

"  It  is  just  to  be  a  servant  of  Christ,"  said  Dolly. 
"  A  true  servant,  '  doing  the  will  of  God  £rom  the 
heart.' " 

"  How  are  you  going  to  know  what  his  will  is  ? 
I  should  be  bothered  if  you  asked  me." 

"  0  he  has  told  us  that,"  said  Dolly  surprised. 
"  In  the  Bible." 

"Then  I  s'pose  you've  got  to  study  that  consid- 
erable." 

"  Certainly." 

"  Well,  don't  it  say  things  pretty  different  from 
what  most  folks  do  ?  " 

"  Yes.     What  then  ?  " 

"Then  it  wouldn't  be  just  easy  to  get  along 
with  it,  I  should  think." 

"  What  then  ?  " 

"Well!"  said  Rupert, — "how  are  you  going  to 
live  in  the  world,  and  not  do  as  the  world  do  ?  " 

"  Then  you  have  studied  the  Bible  a  little  ?  " 

"No,  fact,  I  haven't,"  said  Rupert.  "But  I've 
heard  folks  talk  now  and  again;  and  that's  what  I 
think  about  it." 


A  SQUARE  PARTY.  303 

"  Suppose  it  is  difficult  ?  "  said  Dolly.  "  But  it 
is  really  not  difficult,  if  one  is  a  true  servant  of  God 
and  not  only  make-believe.  Suppose  it  were  dif- 
ficult, though.  Do  you  remember  what  Christ  said 
of  the  two  ways,  serving  him  and  not  serving 
him  ?  " 

Eupert  shook  his  head. 

"  Have  you  got  a  Bible  of  your  own  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Eupert.  "That's  an  article  1  never 
owned  yet.  I've  always  wanted  other  things  more, 
you  see." 

"And  I  would  rather  want  everything  else  in 
the  world,"  said  Dolly.  "  I  mean,  I  would  rather 
be  without  everything  else." 

"  Surely !  "  said  Rupert. 

"Because  I  am  a  servant  of  Christ,  you  see. 
Now  that  is  what  I  want  you  to  be.  And  as  to 
the  question  of  ease  or  difficulty — this  is  Avhat  I 
was  going  to  repeat  to  you.  Jesus  said,  that  those 
who  hear  and  obey  him  are  like  a  house  planted 
on  a  rock ;  fixed  and  firm ;  a  house  that  when  the 
storms  come  and  the  winds  blow,  is  never  so  much 
as  shaken.  But  those  who  do  not  obey  him  are 
like  a  house  built  on  the  sand.  When  the  storms 
blow  and  the  winds  beat,  it  will  fall  terribly  and 
all  to  ruins.  It  seems  to  me,  Mr.  Babbage,  that 
that  is  harder  than  the  other." 

"  Suppose  the  storms  do  not  come  ?  "  said  Eupert. 

"  I  guess  they  come  to  most  people,"  said  Dolly 
soberly.  "  But  the  Lord  did  not  mean  these  storms 
merely.  I  don't  know  whether  he  meant  them  at 


304  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

all.  He  meant  the  time  by  and  by. — Come,  we 
must  go  home,"  said  Dolly,  beginning  to  go  for- 
ward again.  "  I  wish  you  would  be  a  servant  of 
Christ,  Mr.  Babbage  !  " 

"Why?" 

"  0  because  all  that  is  sure  and  strong  and  safe 
and  happy  is  on  that  side,"  said  Dolly,  speaking 
eagerly.  "All  that  is  noble  and  true  and  good. 
You  are  sure  of  nothing,  if  you  are  not  a  Christian, 
Mr.  Babbage;  you  are  not  sure  even  of  yourself. 
Temptation  may  whirl  you,  you  don't  know  where, 
and  before  you  know  it  and  before  you  can  help  it. 
And  when  the  storms  come,  those  storms — your 
house  will — go  down — in  the  sands — "  And  to 
Kupert's  enormous  astonishment,  Dolly's  voice 
broke  here,  and  for  a  second  she  stood  still,  draw- 
ing long  sobs;  then  she  lifted  her  head  with  ail 
effort,  took  his  arm  and  went  swiftly  back  on 
the  way  to  the  hotel.  He  had  not  been  able  to 
say  one  word.  Eupert  could  not  have  the  faintest 
notion  of  the  experience  which  had  pointed  and 
sharpened  Dolly's  last  words;  he  could  not  imag- 
ine why,  as  they  walked  home,  she  should  catch  a 
hasty  breath  now  and  then,  as  he  Knew  she  did,  a 
breath  which  was  almost  a  sob;  but  Rupert  Bab- 
bage was  Dolly's  devoted  slave  from  that  day. 

Lawrence  himself  marvelled  somewhat  at  the 
appearance  and  manner  of  the  young  lady  in  the 
evening.  The  talk  and  the  thoughts  had  roused 
and  stirred  Dolly,  with  partly  the  stir  of  pain, 
but  partly  also  the  sense  of  work  to  do  and  the 


A  SQUARE  PARTY.  305 

calling  up  of  all  her  loving  strength  to  do  it.  Hei 
cheek  had  a  little  more  colour  than  usual,  her  eye 
a  soft  hidden  fire,  her  voice  a  thrill  of  tender  power. 
She  was  like,  Lawrence  thought,  a  most  rare  wild 
wood  flower,  some  spiritual  orchis  or  delicious  and 
delicate  geranium;  in  contrast  to  the  severely 
trained,  massive  and  immoveable  tulips  and  camel- 
lias of  society.  She  was  at  a  vexatious  distance 
from  him,  however;  and  handled  him  with  a  calm 
superiority  which  no  woman  of  the  world  could 
have  improved  upon.  Only  it  was  nature  with 
Dolly. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

SEEING  SIGHTS. 

THE  next  day's  journey  was  uninteresting  and 
slow.  Mrs.  Copley  grew  tired;  and  even  din- 
ner and  rest  at  a  good  hotel  failed  to  restore  her 
spirits. 

"How  many  more  days  will  it  be  before  we  get 
to  Dresden  ?  "  she  desired  to  know. 

"  Keep  up  your  courage,  Mrs.  Copley,"  said  Law- 
rence. "  Remember  the  Green  vaults !  We  have 
some  work  before  us  yet  to  gBt  there." 

"  We  shall  not  get  there  to-morrow  ?  " 

"We  shall  hardly  do  more  than  reach  Cassel 
to-morrow." 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  Cassel.  Will  it 
be  nothing  but  sand  all  the  way,  like  to-day? 
We  have  left  everything  pretty  behind  us  in  Hol- 
land." 

"  I  think  the  way  will  mend  a  little,"  Lawrence 
allowed. 

"What  place  is  next  to  Cassel?" 

"As  our  resting  place  for  the  night?  I  am 
afraid  it  will  take  us  two  days  to  get  to  Weimar." 

"  And  then  Dresden  ?  " 

"  No,  then  Leipzig." 


SEEING  SIGHTS.  307 

"01  should  like  to  see  Leipzig,"  cried  Dolly. 

"What  for?"  said  her  mother.  "I  am  sure  all 
these  places  are  nothing  to  us,  and  I  think  the 
country  is  very  stupid.  And  I  like  travelling 
where  I  know  what  the  people  say.  I  feel  as  if 
I  had  got  five  thousand  miles  from  anywhere. 
What  do  you  suppose  keeps  your  father,  Dolly  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  mother." 

"You  may  write  and  tell  him,  if  he  don't  come 
to  us  in  Dresden  I  shall  go  back.  This  isn't  my 
notion  of  pleasure." 

"  But  it  is  doing  you  good,  mother." 

"  I  hadn't  anything  I  could  eat  this  evening.  If 
you  don't  mind,  Dolly,  I'll  go  to  bed." 

Dolly  did  mind,  for  she  longed  for  a  walk  again 
among  the  strange  scenes  and  people.  As  it  was 
not  to  be  had  this  time,  she  sat  at  her  window  and 
looked  out.  It  was  moonlight,  soft  weather;  and 
her  eye  was  at  least  filled  with  novelty  enough, 
even  so.  But  her  thoughts  went  back  to  what  was 
not  novel.  The  day  had  been  dull  and  fatiguing. 
Dolly's  spirits  were  quiet.  She  too  was  longing 
for  her  father,  with  a  craving,  anxious  longing 
that  was  more  full  of  fear  than  of  hope.  And 
as  she  thought  it  over  again,  she  did  not  like  her 
position.  Her  mother  was  little  of  a  shield  be- 
tween her  and  what  she  wanted  to  escape,  Law- 
rence St.  Leger's  attentions;  and  she  could  but 
imperfectly  protect  herself.  True,  she  knew  she 
gave  him  no  direct  encouragement.  Yet  he  was 
constantly  with  her,  he  had  the  right  of  taking 


308  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

care  of  her,  he  let  her  see  daily  what  a  pleasure  it 
was,  and  she  was  not  able  to  turn  it  into  the  re- 
verse of  pleasure.  She  could  not  repulse  him, 
unless  he  pushed  his  advances  beyond  a  certain 
point;  and  Lawrence  was  clever  enough  to  see 
that  he  had  better  not  do  that.  He  took  things 
for  granted  a  little,  in  a  way  that  annoyed  Dolly. 
She  knew  she  gave  him  no  proper  encouragement ; 
nevertheless,  the  things  she  could  not  forbid  might 
seem  to  weave  a  tacit  claim  by  and  by.  She 
wished  for  her  father  on  her  own  account.  But 
when  she  thought  of  what  was  keeping  him, 
Dolly's  head  went  down  in  agony.  "O  father, 
father ! "  she  cried  in  the  depths  of  her  heart — 
"  why  don't  you  come !  how  can  you  let  us  ask  in 
vain  ?  and  what  dreadful,  dreadful  entanglement  it 
must  be  that  has  such  power  over  you  to  make  you 
do  things  so  unlike  yourself !  0  what  shall  I  do  ? 
what  shall  I  do  ?  I  cannot  reach  him  now — only 
by  letters." 

Mrs.  Copley  got  up  next  morning  in  renewed 
spirits.  "Dolly,"  she  inquired  while  she  was  dress- 
ing, in  which  business  Dolly  always  helped  her, — 
"  is  anything  settled  between  St.  Leger  and  you  ?  " 

"Settled,  mother?  He  is  father's  secretary, — 
at  least  so  he  calls  himself, — taking  care  of  us  in 
father's  absence.  There  is  nothing  else  settled; 
nor  to  be  settled." 

"You  know  why  he  is  here,  child." 

"  Because  father  isn't,  mother;  and  I  should  like 
to  make  the  exchange  as  quickly  as  possible." 


SEEING  SIGHTS.  309 

"  What's  the  matter  with  him,  Dolly  ?  " 

"The  principal  thing  is,  he  won't  take  a  hint." 

"No,  no;  I  mean,  what  fault  do  you  find  in 
him  ?  " 

"That,  mother.     Nothing  else." 

"  He  worships  the  ground  you  tread  on." 

"  Mother,  I  think  that  is  a  pity.     Don't  you  ?  " 

"  1  think  you  ought  to  be  very  glad  of  it.  I 
am.  Dolly,  the  St.  Legers  are  very  well  off;  he 
is  rich,  and  his  father  is  rich;  and  there  is  that 
beautiful  place,  and  position,  and  everything  you 
could  desire." 

"  Position  " — Dolly  repeated.  "  Mother,  I  think 
I  make  my  own  position.  At  any  rate,  I  like  it 
better  than  his." 

"  0  Dolly !  the  St.  Legers—" 

"They  are  not  anything  particular,  mother. 
Eich  bankers;  that  is  all." 

"  And  isn't  that  enough  ?  " 

"Well,  no,"  said  Dolly  laughing.  "It  would 
take  a  good  deal  more  to  tempt  me  away  from  you 
and  father." 

"  But  child,  you've  got  to  go.  And  Mr.  St.  Leg- 
er  is  as  fond  of  you  as  ever  he  can  be." 

"  He  will  not  break  his  heart,  mother.  He  is 
not  that  sort.  Don't  think  it." 

"  I  don't  care  if  he  did  !  "  said  Mrs.  Copley  half 
crying.  "It  is  not  him  I  am  thinking  of;  it  is  you." 

"Thank  you,  mother,"  said  Dolly,  putting  her 
arms  round  her  mother's  neck  and  kissing  her 
repeatedly.  "But  I  am  not  going  to  leave  you 


310  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

for  any  such  person.     And  I  don't  think  so  much 
of  money  as  you  do." 

"  Dolly,  Dolly,  money  is  a  good  thing." 
"There  is  not  enough  of  it  in  the  world  to  buy 
me,  mother.     Don't  try  to  fix  my  price." 

The  rest  of  that  day  Dolly  was  gay.  "Whether 
from  the  reaction  of  spirits  natural  to  seventeen, 
or  whether  she  were  lightened  in  heart  by  the 
explicitness  of  her  talk  with  her  mother  in  the 
morning,  she  was  the  life  of  the  day's  journey. 
The  road  itself  mended;  the  landscape  was  often 
noble,  with  fine  oak  and  beech  woods,  and  lovely 
in  its  rich  cultivation;  meadows  and  ploughed  fields 
and  tracts  of  young  grain  and  smiling  villages  al- 
ternating with  one  another.  There  was  no  tedium 
in  the  carriage  from  morning  to  night.  St.  Leg- 
er  and  Rupert  laughed  at  Dolly,  and  with  her; 
and  Mrs.  Copley,  in  spite  of  chewing  the  cud  of 
mortification  at  Dolly's  impracticableness,  was  be- 
guiled into  forgetting  herself.  Sometimes  this 
happy  effect  could  be  managed;  at  other  times  it 
was  impossible.  But  more  days  followed,  not  so 

gay. 

"  I'm  as  tired  as  I  can  be ! "  was  Mrs.  Copley's 
declaration,  as  they  were  approaching  Leipzig. 

"  We'll  soon  get  to  our  hotel  now,"  said  Lawrence 
soothingly: 

"'Tain't  that,"  said  Mrs.  Copley;  "I  am  tired  of 
hotels  too.  I  am  tired  of  going  from  one  place  to 
another.  I  should  like  to  stay  still  somewhere." 

"  But  it  is  doing  you  good,  mother." 


SEEING  SIGHTS.  311 

"  I  don't  see  it,"  said  Mrs.  Copley.  "  And  what 
do  you  mean  by  its  doing  me  good,  Dolly  ?  What 
is  good  that  you  don't  feel  ?  It's  like  something 
handsome  that  you  can't  see;  and  if  you  call  that 
good,  I  don't.  I  wonder  if  life's  to  everybody  what 
it  is  to  me ! " 

"Not  exactly,"  said  Lawrence.  "Not  every- 
body can  go  where  he  likes  and  do  what  he  will, 
and  have  such  an  attendant  handmaiden  every- 
where." 

"  Do  what  I  will !  "  cried  Mrs.  Copley,  who  like 
other  dissatisfied  people  did  not  like  to  have  her 
case  proved  against  her, — "much  you  know  about 
it,  Mr.  St.  Leger !  If  I  had  my  will,  I  would  go 
back  to  America." 

"  Then  you  would  have  to  do  without  your  hand- 
maiden," said  Lawrence.  "  You  do  not  think  that 
we  on  this  side  are  so  careless  of  our  own  ad- 
vantage as  to  let  such  a  valuable  article  go  out  of 
the  country?" 

It  was  said  with  just  such  a  mixture  of  jest  and 
earnest  that  Dolly  could  hardly  take  it  up.  The 
words  soothed  Mrs.  Copley,  though  her  answer 
hardly  sounded  so. 

"  I  suppose  that  is  what  mothers  have  to  make 
up  their  minds  to,"  she  said.  "Just  when  their 
children  are  ready  to  be  some  comfort  to  them, 
off  they  go,  to  begin  the  same  game  on  their  own 
account.  I  sometimes  wonder  whether  it  is  worth 
while  to  live  at  all !  " 

"  But  one  can't  help  that,"  said  Rupert. 


312  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  I  don't  see  what  it  amounts  to." 

"Mother,  think  of  the  Dresden  Green  vaults,"  said 
Dolly. 

"Well,  I  do,"  said  Mrs.  Copley.  "That  keeps 
me  up.  But  whten  I  have  seen  them,  Dolly ;  what 
will  keep  me  up  then  ?  " 

"  Why  Venice,  mother." 

"  And  suppose  I  don't  like  Venice  ?  I  some- 
times think  I  shan't." 

"Then  we  will  not  stay  there,  dear.  We  will 
go  on  to  Sorrento." 

"After  all,  Dolly,  one  can't  keep  always  going 
somewhere.  One  must  come  to  a  stop." 

"  The  best  way  is  not  to  think  of  that  till  one  is 
obliged  to  do  it,"  said  Lawrence.  "  Enjoy  while 
you  have  to  enjoy." 

"That  ain't  a  very  safe  maxim,  seems  to  me," 
said  Rupert.  "One's  rope  might  get  twisted  up." 

"  It  is  the  maxim  of  a  great  many  wise  men," 
said  Lawrence,  ignoring  the  figure. 

"  Is  it  wise  ?  "  said  Dolly.  "  Would  you  spend 
your  money  so,  like  your  time  ?  spend  to  the  last 
farthing,  before  you  made  any  provision  for  what 
was  to  be  next  ?  " 

"No,  for  I  need  not.  In  money  matters  one 
can  always  take  care  to  have  means  ahead." 

"  So  you  can  in  the  other  thing." 

"  How  ?  "  said  Eupert,  and  "  How  ?  "  said  Law- 
rence, in  the  same  breath.  "You  cannot  always, 
as  Mrs.  Copley  said,  go  on  finding  new  places  to 
go  to  and  new  things  to  see." 


SEEING  SIGHTS.  313 

"I'd  have  what  would  put  me  above  the  need 
of  that." 

"  What  ?     Philosophy  ?     Stoicism  ?  " 

"  No — "  said  Dolly  softly. 

"  Have  you  discovered  the  philosopher's  stone  ?  " 
said  Lawrence;  —  "and  can  you  turn  common 
things  into  gold  for  your  purposes  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Dolly  in  the  same  way. 

"  Let  us  hear  how,  won't  you  ?  Is  it  books,  or 
writing,  or  art  perhaps?  You  are  very  fond  of 
that  I  know." 

"No,"  said  Dolly  slowly;  "and  I  cannot  shew 
it  to  you,  either,  Mr.  St.  Leger.  It  is  like  the 
golden  water  in  the  story  in  the  Arabian  Nights, 
which  was  at  the  top  of  a  hill,  and  people  went 
up  the  hill  to  get  it;  but  on  the  way  so  many 
strange  voices  sounded  in  their  ears  that  they  were 
tempted  to  look  round;  and  if  they  looked  round 
they  were  turned  to  stone.  So  the  way  was 
marked  with  stones." 

"  And  nobody  got  the  golden  water  ?  " 

"Yes.  At  last  one  went  up,  who  being  fore- 
warned, stopped  her  ears  and  never  looked  round. 
She  got  to  the  top  and  found  the  golden  water. 
We  in  these  times  give  it  another  name.  It  is  the 
water  of  life." 

"  What  are  you  talking  about,  Dolly  ?  "  said  her 
mother. 

"Must  one  go  up  the  hill  with  one's  ears  stopped 
noiv,  to  get  the  wonderful  water?"  Lawrence  asked. 
Dolly  nodded. 


314  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"And  when  you  have  got  it — what  then?" 

"Then  you  have  got  it,"  said  Dolly.  "It  is  the 
water  of  life.  And  you  have  done  with  this  dry 
wilderness  that  mother  is  complaining  of,  and  you 
are  recommending." 

Lawrence  stroked  and  pulled  his  moustache,  as 
he  might  have  done  if  a  lady  had  spoken  to  him  in 
polite  Sanscrit.  Rupert  looked  gravely  out  of  the 
carriage  window.  Neither  answered,  and  nobody 
spoke  another  word,  till  Mrs.  Copley  exclaimed, 
"There's  Leipzig!" 

"Looks  sort  o'  peaceful  now — "  remarked  Ru- 
pert. 

"  Peaceful  ?  Why,  ain't  the  place  quiet  ?  "  Mrs. 
Copley  asked  anxiously. 

"Quiet  enough,"  said  Lawrence;  "but  there  was 
a  time,  not  so  long  ago,  when  it  wasn't  exactly  so." 

"  When  was  that  ?  " 

"  When  all  the  uniforms  of  Europe  were  chasing 
through  it,"  said  Dolly;  "some  chased  and  some 
chasing;  when  the  country  was  covered  with  ar- 
mies; when  a  half  a  million  of  men  or  so  fought 
a  long  battle  here,  and  the  suburbs  of  Leipzig  were 
full  of  dead  and  wounded  and  sick  and  starving; 
there  was  not  much  peace  then  in  or  out  of  the 
city;  though  there  was  some  rejoicing." 

"0,"  said  Mrs.  Copley,  "  you  mean — " 

"  When  Napoleon  was  beaten  here,  mother." 

"  War's  a  mean  thing !  "  said  Rupert. 

"  That's  not  precisely  the  view  civilized  peoples 
take  of  it,"  said  Lawrence  with  a  slight  sneer. 


SEEING  SIGHTS.  315 

"  True,  though,"  said  Dolly. 

"  Mean  ?  "  said  Lawrence.  "  Do  you  think  it 
was  a  mean  thing  for  Germany  to  rise  up  and  cast 
out  the  power  that  had  been  oppressing  her?  or 
for  the  other  powers  of  Europe  to  help  ?  " 

" No;  but  very  mean  for  the  side  that  had  given 
the  occasion." 

"  That's  as  you  look  at  it,"  said  Lawrence. 

"  No,  but  how  God  looks  at  it.  You  cannot 
possibly  think,"  said  Dolly  slowly,  going  back  to 
her  old  childish  expression, — "  that  He  likes  it." 

Lawrence  could  not  help  smiling  at  this  very 
original  view.  "  Very  few  people  that  make  war 
ask  that  question — "  he  said. 

"  God  will  ask  them,  though,"  said  Dolly,  "  why 
they  did  not.  I  think  few  people  ask  that  ques- 
tion, Mr.  St.  Leger,  about  anything." 

"It  is  not  usual,  except  for  a  little  saint  here 
and  there  like  you,"  he  allowed. 

"  And  yet  it  is  the  only  question.  There  is 
nothing  else  to  be  asked  about  a  matter;  almost 
nothing  else.  If  that  is  settled,  it  is  all  settled." 

"  If  we  were  only  all  saints," — Lawrence  put  in. 

"  Why  are  not  we  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  suppose  everybody  is  not  cut 
out  for  such  a  vocation." 

"  Everybody  ought  to  be  a  saint" 

"  Do  you  mean  that  ?  "  cried  Rupert.  "  I  thought, 
— I  mean,  I  thought  it  was  a  special  gift." 

"  Yes,"  said  Dolly  with  a  smile  at  him,  "  but  God 
gives  it  to  every  one  that  wants  it.  And  when  the 


316  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

King  comes,  Mr.  St.  Leger,  he  will  gather  his  saints 
to  him,  and  none  others;  don't  yon  want  to  be 
counted  among  them  then  ? — I  do  !  " 

I  don't  know  what  had  wrought  up  Dolly  to  this 
sudden  burst;  but  she  dropped  her  veil  upon  eyes 
all  alight,  while  some  soft  dripping  tears  were  fall- 
ing from  them  like  diamonds.  Everyone  knows 
the  peculiar  brilliancy  of  a  sunlit  shower;  and  the 
two  young  men  remained  fairly  dazzled.  Kupert 
however  looked  very  grave,  while  the  other  wore  a 
cloud  on  his  brow. 

Dolly  was  as  matter  of  fact  as  possible  when  she 
came  out  from  under  her  veil  again ;  and  declared 
she  should  not  go  to  a  hotel  in  Dresden,  but  take  a 
lodging. 

"Why?"  Lawrence  enquired. 

"  Cheaper.  And  pleasanter.  And  much  quieter. 
We  shall  probably  have  to  stay  several  days  in 
Dresden.  We  must  get  letters  there." 

"But  you  do  not  know  where  to  go,  to  find 
lodgings." 

"  Yes,  I  do.  Or  I  shall.  I  hope  so.  I  have  sent 
for  the  address  of  the  woman  with  whom  Lady 
Brierley  had  lodgings  a  whole  winter." 

"  Where  do  you  expect  to  receive  this  address  ?  " 

"  In  Leipzig,  I  hope." 

"  Eeally,  Dolly,  you  take  a  good  deal  upon  you, 
considering  how  old  you  are,"  said  her  mother. 
"Don't  you  think  Mr.  St.  Leger  knows  best?" 

"  No,  mother,  not  for  you  and  me.  O  he  can  go 
to  a  hotel.  He  will,  of  course." 


SEEING  SIGHTS.  317 

However  this  Mr.  St.  Leger  did  not  desire.  He 
was  obliged  to  do  it  nevertheless.  The  letter  was 
found  at  Leipzig,  the  lodgings  were  found  in  Dres- 
den, but  not  roomy  enough  to  hold  them  all.  Mrs. 
Copley  and  her  daughter  and  their  attendant  Ru- 
pert were  very  comfortably  accommodated;  and  to 
Dolly's  great  joy  found  themselves  alone.  Frau 
Wetterhahn  was  all  obligingness,  hearing  Lady 
Brierley's  name,  and  made  them  right  welcome. 
This  Frau  Wetterhahn !  She  was  the  most  lively, 
active,  capable,  talkative,  bright -eyed,  good-hu- 
moured, free  and  easy  little  woman  that  you  can 
imagine.  She  was  really  capable,  and  cooked  them 
a  nice  supper.  Dolly  had  unpacked  a  few  things, 
and  felt  herself  at  home,  and  the  three  sat  down 
comfortably  to  their  meal. 

"  Now,  mother  dear,"  said  Dolly,  "  this  is  pleas- 
ant!" ' 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Copley,  "  I  think  it  is.  If  you 
only  hadn't  sent  Lawrence  away !  " 

"  He  couldn't  stay,  mother.  Frau  Wetterhahn 
sent  him  away — not  I.  Change  will  be  good  for 
him.  And  for  me  too.  I  am  going  to  make  be- 
lieve we  are  at  home  for  a  little  while.  And  you 
are  going  to  see  the  Green  vaults;  and  I  am  going 
to  see  everything.  And  these  rooms  are  so  cosy  ! " 

"Aren't  you  going  to  see  the  Green  vaults  too?" 

"  Indeed  I  hope  so.  But  we  may  have  to  wait  a 
day  or  two,  dear  mother ;  that  will  be  good,  and 
you  can  have  a  rest." 

"  I'm  sure  I'm  glad  of  it,"  said  Mrs.  Copley.     "  I 


318  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

am  just  tired  of  riding,  and  more  tired  yet  of  see- 
ing everlasting  new  things.  I  am  aching  for  some- 
thing I've  seen  before  in  my  life." 

"  Well,  here's  a  cup  of  coffee,  mother." 

Mrs.  Copley  tasted. 

"  If  you  think  that's  like  anything  I  used  to  have 
at  home,  I'm  sorry  for  you ! "  she  said  with  a  re- 
proachful look. 

"  Don't  you  like  it  ?  I  do.  I  like  it  because  it 
is  different.  But  I  think  it  is  very  good,  mother. 
And  look — here  is  some  delicious  bread." 

"  It's  like  no  bread  I  ever  saw  till  I  came  to  Ger- 
many. 0  mercy !  why  must  folks  have  so  many 
ways  ?  I  wonder  how  things  will  be  at  Venice  ?  " 

"Stranger  than  ever,  mother,  I'm  afraid." 

"  Then  I  shall  get  tired  of  it.  Isn't  this  a  very 
roundabout  way  that  we  are  going  to  Venice? 
round  this  way  by  Dresden  ?  " 

"Why  yes,  mother,  of  course;  but  the  Green 
vaults  are  here,  and  you  were  bound  to  see  the 
Green  vaults." 

"  I  wouldn't  have  come,  if  I  had  known  it  was 
so  far,"  said  Mrs.  Copley. 

But  she  relished  her  supper,  and  was  not  ner- 
vous, and  slept  well;  and  Dolly  was  somewhat  in 
hopes  that  Dresden  was  not  a  bad  move  after  all. 
They  had  to  wait,  as  she  said,  for  letters,  and  for 
the  sight  of  the  glories  that  had  attracted  them 
hither.  Several  days  passed  by. 

They  passed  in  delights,  for  Dolly.  Two  morn- 
ings were  spent  in  the  great  picture  gallery.  Mrs. 


SEEING  SIGHTS.  319 

Copley's  desires  and  expectations  having  focussed 
upon  the  Green  vaults,  were  hardly  able  to  see 
anything  else  clearly ;  indeed  she  declared  that  she 
did  not  think  the  wonderful  Madonna  was  so  very 
wonderful  after  all;  no  woman  could  stand  upon 
clouds  in  that  way,  and  as  she  was  a  woman,  she 
did  not  see  why  the  painter  did  not  exhibit  her  in 
a  possible  situation;  and  those  little  angels  at  the 
foot  of  the  picture,  where  was  the  other  half  of 
them  supposed  to  be  ?  she  did  not  like  half  of  any- 
thing. But  Dolly  dreamed  in  rapture,  before  this 
and  many  another  wonder  of  art.  Mrs.  Copley 
made  processions  round  the  rooms  constantly,  draw- 
ing of  course  St.  Leger  with  her;  she  could  not  be 
still.  ,  But  Dolly  would  stop  before  a  picture  and 
be  immoveable  for  half  an  hour,  drinking  in  pleas- 
ure and  feeding  upon  knowledge;  and  Eupert  gen- 
erally took  post  behind  lier  and  acted  as  body-guard. 
What  he  made  of  the  show,  I  do  not  know.  Dol- 
ly asked  him  how  he  liked  it?  He  said,  "first- 
rate." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  it,  Rupert  ?  "  Dolly 
asked  gaily. 

"  Well,  I  guess  I  don't  just  see  into  it,"  was  the 
dubious  answer.  "  If  these  are  likenesses  of  folks, 
they  ain't  like  my  folks." 

"0  but  they  are  not  likenesses;  most  of  them 
are  not." 

"What  are  they,  then?  and  what  is  the  good 
of  'em,  if  they  don't  mean  anything  ?  " 

"They  are  out  of  people's  imagination;  as  the 


320  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

painter  imagined  such  and  such  persons  might 
have  looked,  in  such  situations." 

"  How  the  painter  imagined  they  might  have 
looked !  "  cried  Rupert. 

"Yes.  And  they  mean  a  great  deal;  all  that 
was  in  the  painter's  mind." 

"I  don't  care  a  red  cent  how  a  man  fancies 
somebody  looked.  I'd  like  the  real  thing,  if  I 
could  get  it.  I'd  go  some  ways  to  see  how  the 
mother  of  Christ  did  look;  but  you  say  that  ain't 
it?" 

"  No,"  said  Dolly  smiling. 

Rupert  surveyed  the  great  picture  again. 

"  Don't  you  think  it  is  beautiful,  Rupert  ?  "  Dolly 
pursued,  curious  to  know  what  went  on  in  his 
thoughts. 

"  I've  seen  as  handsome  faces — and  handsomer," 
he  said  slowly;  "and  I  lik^  flesh  and  blood  a  long 
sight  better  than  a  painting,  anyhow." 

"  Handsome  ?  "  said  Dolly.  "  0  it  is  not  that — 
it  is  so  much  more  ! — 

"  What  is  it,  Miss  Dolly  ?  "  said  Lawrence  just 
then  coming  up  behind  her.  "  1  should  like  to 
hear  your  criticism.  Do  put  it  in  words." 

"That's  not  easy;  and  it  is  not  criticism.  But 
I'll  tell  you  how  it  seems  to  me;  as  the  paint- 
ing, not  of  anybody's  features,  but  of  somebody's 
nature — spirit.  It  is  a  painting  of  the  spiritual 
character." 

"  Mental  traits  can  be  expressed  in  words,  though," 
said  Lawrence.  "You'll  go  on,  I  hope?" 


SEEING  SIGHTS.  321 

"  I  cannot,"  said  Dolly.  "  It  is  not  the  lovely 
face,  Mr.  Babbage;  it  is  Thought  and  Feeling, 
Love,  and  Purity  and  Majesty — but  the  majesty 
of  a  person  who  has  no  thought  of  herself." 

Dolly  could  not  get  out  of  that  one  room;  she 
sat  before  the  Raphael,  and  then  stood  fixed  before 
the  "Notte"  or  the  "Magdalene"  of  Correggio;  and 
would  not  come  away.  Eupert  always  attended  on 
her,  and  Mrs.  Copley  as  regularly  made  progresses 
through  the  rooms  on  Lawrence's  arm,  till  she  de- 
clared herself  tired  out.  They  were  much  beholden 
to  Lawrence  and  his  good  offices  thbse  days,  more 
than  they  knew;  for  it  was  past  the  season  when 
the  gallery  was  open  to  the  public,  and  entrance 
was  obtained  solely  by  the  influence  of  St.  Leger's 
mediation  and  money ;  how  much  of  the  latter  they 
never  knew.  Lawrence  was  a  very  good  escort 
also;  his  address  was  pleasant,  and  his  knowl- 
edge of  men  and  things  sufficient  for  useful  pur- 
poses; he  knew  in  general  what  was  what  and 
who  was  who,  and  was  never  at  a  loss.  Rupert 
followed  the  party  like  a  faithful  dog,  ready  for 
service  a,nd  with  no  opportunity  to  shew  it;  Law- 
rence held  the  post  of  leader  and  manager  now, 
and  filled  it  well.  In  matters  of  art,  however,  I 
am  bound  to  say,  though  he  could  talk  more  he 
knew  as  little  as  Rupert  himself. 

"What  is  to  be  done  to-morrow?"  he  asked,  in 
the  evening  of  that  second  day. 

"  We  haven't  got  our  letters  yet,"  said  Mrs.  Cop- 
ley.    "  I  can't  see  why  they  don't  come." 
21 


322  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"So  the  Green  vaults  must  wait.  What  else 
shall  we  do  ?  " 

"  0,"  said  Dolly,  "  might  we  not  go  to  the  gal- 
lery again  ?  " 

"Another  day?"  cried  her  mother.  "Why  you 
have  been  there  two  whole  mornings,  child.  Ain't 
that  enough?" 

"  Mother,  I  could  go  two  months,  I  think." 

"Then  you'd  catch  your  death,"  said  Mrs.  Cop- 
ley. "  That  inner  room  is  very  chill  now.  For  my 
part,  I  do  not  want  to  see  another  picture  again 
in  days  and  duys.  My  head  swims  with  looking 
at  them.  I  don't  see  what  you  find  in  the  old 
things." 

Dolly  could  not  have  told.  She  sighed,  and  it 
was  agreed  that  they  would  drive  about  the  city 
and  its  environs  next  day;  Lawrence  assuring  them 
that  it  was  one  of  the  pleasantest  towns  in  Ger- 
many. But  the  next  morning  early  came  the  let- 
ters from  Mr.  Copley;  one  to  his  wife  and  one  to 
Dolly. 

Dolly  read  them  both  and  pondered  them ;  and 
was  unsatisfied.  They  were  rather  cheerful  letters ; 
at  the  same  time  Mr.  Copley  informed  his  wife  and 
daughter  that  he  could  not  join  them  in  Dresden ; 
nor  at  any  rate  before  they  got  to  Venice.  So  much 
was  final;  but  what  puzzled  and  annoyed  Dolly 
yet  more  than  this  delay  was  the,  amount  of  money 
he  remitted  to  her.  To  her;  for  Mrs.  Copley,  as  an 
invalid,  it  was  agreed,  should  not  be  burdened  with 
business.  So  the  draft  came  in  the  letter  to  Dolly ; 


SEEING  SIGHTS.  323 

and  it  was  not  half  large  enough.  Dolly  kept  the 
draft,  gave  the  letter  to  her  mother  to  read,  and 
sat  in  a  mazed  kind  of  state,  trying  to  bring  her 
wits  to  a  focus  upon  this  condition  of  affairs. 

What  was  her  father  thinking  of?  It  is  one 
thing  to  be  short  of  funds  at  home,  in  one's  own 
country  and  in  one's  own  house ;  it  is  bad  enough 
even  there;  what  is  it  when  one  is  in  a  strange  land 
and  dependent  upon  the  shelter  of  other  people's 
houses,  for  which  an  equivalent  must  be  paid  in 
money?  and  when  one  is  obliged  to  travel  from 
one  place  to  another,  and  every  mile  of  the  way 
demands  another  equivalent  in  money  ?  Mr.  Cop- 
ley had  sent  a  little,  but  Dolly  knew  it  would  by 
no  means  take  them  to  Venice.  What  did  he  in- 
tend ?  or  what  did  he  expect  her  to  do  ?  Apply  to 
Lawrence  ?  Never !  No,  not  under  any  pressure 
or  combination  that  could  be  brought  to  bear.  He 
would  demand  an  equivalent  too ;  or  worse,  think 
that  it  was  guarantied,  if  she  made  such  an  appli- 
cation. How  could  Mr.  Copley  place  his  child  in 
such  a  predicament  ?  And  then  Dolly's  head  went 
down  in  her  hands,  for  the  probable  answer  crushed 
her.  He  never  would,  he  never  could,  but  for  yield- 
ing to  unworthy  indulgences;  becoming  entangled 
in  low  pleasures;  taken  possession  of  by  the  influ- 
ence of  unprincipled  men.  Her  father ! — Dolly  felt 
as  if  her  heart  would  break  or  her  head  burst  with 
its  burden  of  pain, — "  0  a  father  never  should  let 
his  child  feel  ashamed  for  him ! "  was  the  secret 
cry  down  in  the  depths  of  her  heart.  Dolly  would 


324  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

not  speak  it  out  ever,  even  to  herself,  but  it  was 
there,  all  the  same;  and  it  tortured  her,  with  a 
nameless,  exquisite  torture,  under  which  she  men- 
tally writhed,  without  being  able  to  get  the  least 
relief.  Every  surge  of  the  old  love  and  rever- 
ence broke  on  those  sharp  rocks  of  pain  more 
hopelessly.  "  0  father  ! — 0  father !  "  she  cried  si- 
lently, with  a  pitiful  vain  appeal  which  could  never 
be  heard. 

And  then  the  practical  question  came  back, 
taking  away  her  breath.  What  was  she  to  do? 
If  they  did  not  stay  too  long  in  Dresden  they 
would  have  enough  money  to  pay  their  lodging 
bill  and  go,  she  calculated,  half  the  way  to  Venice. 
What  then  ?  And  if  Mr.  Copley  met  them  in 
Venice,  according  to  promise,  who  would  assure 
her  that  he  would  then  come  provided  with  the 
necessary  funds?  and  what  if  he  failed  to  come? 

Dolly  started  up,  feeling  that  she  could  not  sit 
any  longer  thinking  about  it;  her  nerves  were 
getting  into  a  hard  knot.  She  would  not  think; 
she  busied  herself  in  making  her  mother  and  her- 
self ready  for  their  morning's  excursion.  And 
Lawrence  came  with  a  carriage;  and  they  set  off. 
It  was  a  lovely  day,  and  certainly  the  drive  was 
all  it  had  promised ;  and  Dolly  barred  off  thought, 
and  would  look  and  enjoy  and  talk  and  make 
others  enjoy;  so  the  first  part  of  the  day  passed 
very  well.  Dolly  would  make  no  arrangements 
for  the  afternoon,  and  Mrs.  Copley  was  able  for 
no  more  that  day. 


SEEIN</  SIGHTS.  325 

/ 

But  when  the  ea^y  dinner  was  over,  Dolly 
asked  Rupert  to  wa|c  with  her.  Eupert  was  al- 
ways ready,  and  gav£  a  delighted  assent. 

"  Are  you  going  mt  again  ?  and  to  leave  me  all 
alone  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Oopley. 

"You  will  be  ying  down,  mother  dear;  you 
will  not  want  mfi  and  I  have  business  on  hand, 
that  I  must  attend  to." 

"  I  don't  see /what  business,"  said  Mrs.  Copley 
fretfully;  "aricyyou  can't  do  anything  here,  in  a 
strange  placeV  You'd  better  get  Mr.  St.  Leger  to 
do  it  for  you.7 

"  He  cannyt  do  my  work,"  said  Dolly  lightly. 

"  But  yotr  had  better  wait  and  take  him  along, 
Dolly.  He/knows  where  to  go." 

"  So  do  /,  mother.  I  want  Rupert  this  time,  and 
not  Mr.  S/  Leger.  You  sleep,  till  I  come  back." 

Dolly  /ad  said  she  meant  business,  but  at  first 
going  o/t  things  did  not  look  like  it.  She  went 
slowly  And  silently  along  the  streets,  not  attend- 
ing mjch  to  what  she  was  passing,  Rupert  thought ; 
till  ttey  arrived  at  an  open  spot  from  which  the 
viewof  the  river,  with  the  bridge  and  parts  of  the 
towi,  could  be  enjoyed;  and  there  Dolly  sat  down 
on  a  step,  and  still  without  speaking  to  Rupert, 
b#it  forward  leaning  on  her  knees  and  seemed  to 
g.ve  herself  up  to  studying  the  beautiful  scene. 
She  saw  it;  the  river,  the  picturesque  bridge,  the 
vavy,  vine-clad  hills,  the  unfamiliar  buildings  of 
the  city,  the  villas  scattered  about  on  the  banks 
of  the  Elbe;  she  saw  it  all  under  a  clear  heaven 


326  THE  END  GF  A  COIL. 

and  a  sunny  light  which  Iressed  everything  in 
hues  of  loveliness;  and  her  face  was  fixed  the  while 
in  lines  of  grave  thought  anc  gave  back  no  reflec- 
tion of  the  beauty.  It  had  teauty  enough  of  its 
own,  Eupert  thought;  who  I  mist  say  paid  little 
heed  to  the  landscape,  and  watihed  his  companion 
instead.  The  steady,  intent,  swe^t  eyes,  how  much 
grave  womanliness  was  in  them ,  how  delicate  the 
colour  was  on  the  cheek,  and  ho\\  tender  were  the 
curves  of  the  lips ;  while  the  wilful,clustering  curly 
hair  gave  an  almost  childish  setting  to  the  features 
whose  expression  was  so  very  un-ch'ldish.  For  it 
was  exceedingly  grave.  Dolly  did  $e  the  lovely 
landscape,  and  it  made  her  feel  alone  md  helpless. 
There  was  nothing  wonted  or  familiar;  she  seemed 
to  herself  somehow  cast  away  in  the  Sa;oii  capital. 
And  truly  she  was  all  alone.  Lawrence  she  could 
not  apply  to,  her  mother  must  not  even  >e  talked 
to ;  she  knew  nobody  else.  Her  father  had  let  her 
come  on  this  journey,  had  sent  her  forth,  tnd  now 
left  her  unprovided  even  for  the  barest  necessities. 
No  doubt  he  meant  that  she  should  be  beiolden 
to  Mr.  St.  Leger,  to  whom  he  could  retun  the 
money  by  and  by.  "  Or  not  at  all,"  thought  tolly 
bitterly,  "if  I  would  give  him  myself  instead.  0 
father,  could  you  seU  me ! "  Then  came  the  thought 
of  the  entanglements  and  indulgences  which  h\d 
brought  Mr.  Copley  to  do  other  things  so  unlife 
himself;  and  Dolly's  heart  grew  too  full.  Shj 
could  not  bear  it;  she  had  borne  up  and  foughi 
it  out  all  the  morning;  now  feeling  and  truth  must 


SEEING  SIGHTS.  327 

have  a  minute  for  themselves ;  her  head  went  down 
on  her  hands  and  she  burst  into  quiet  sobs. 

Quiet,  but  deep.  Eupert,  looking  on  in  dismayed 
alarm,  saw  that  this  outbreak  of  pain  had  some 
deep  grounded  cause;  right  or  wrong,  it  came 
from  Dolly's  very  heart  and  her  whole  nature  was 
trembling.  He  was  filled  with  a  great  awe;  and 
in  this  awe  his  sympathy  was  silent  for  a  time; 
but  he  could  not  leave  the  girl  to  herself  too  long. 

"  Miss  Dolly,"  he  said  in  a  pause  of  the  sobs, — 
"  I  thought  you  were  such  a  Christian  ?  " 

Dolly  started,  lifted  her  quivering,  tearful  face, 
and  looked  straight  at  him.  "Yes,"  she  said, — 
"  what  then  ?  " 

"I  always  thought  religious  folks  had  something 
to  comfort  them." 

"Don't  think  they  haven't,"  said  Dolly. — But 
there  she  broke  down  again,  and  it  was  a  storm  of 
a  rain  shower  that  poured  from  her  eyes  this  time. 
She  struggled  to  get  the  better  of  it,  and  as  soon 
as  she  could  she  sat  up  again,  brushing  the  tears 
right  and  left  with  her  hands  and  speaking  in  a 
voice  still  half  choked. 

"Don't  think  they  haven't! — If  I  had  not  that, 
my  heart  would  just  break  and  be  done  with  it. 
But  being  a  Christian  does  not  keep  one  from — 
suffering — sometimes."  Her  voice  failed. 

"What  is  the  matter?  No,  I  don't  mean  that 
you  should  tell  me  that;  only — can't  I  do  some- 
thing ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you ;  nobody  can.     Yes,  you  are  do- 


328  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

ing  a  great  deal,  Rupert ;  you  are  the  greatest  com- 
fort to  me.  I  depend  upon  you." 

Rupert's  eyes  glistened.  He  was  silent  for  sheer 
swelling  of  heart.  He  gulped  down  something 
and  went  on  presently. 

"I  was  thinkin'  of  something  my  old  mother 
used  to  say.  I  know  I've  heard  her  say  it,  lots  o' 
times.  I  don't  know  what  the  trouble  is,  that's  a 
fact — so  maybe  I  hadn't  oughter  speak;  but  she 
used  to  say  that  nothing  could  happen  to  Chris- 
tians that  would  do  'em  any  real  hurt." 

"  I  know,"  said  Dolly,  wondering  to  herself  how 
it  could  be  true;  "the  Bible  says  so." — And  then 
conscience  rebuked  her.  "And  it  is  true,"  she  said 
lifting  up  her  head;  "  everything  is  true  that  the 
Bible  says,  and  that  is  true;  and  it  says  other 
things — ' 

"  What  ?  "  said  Rupert ;  more  for  her  sake  I  con- 
fess than  for  his  own. 

"  It  says — '  Thou  wilt  keep  him  in  perfect  peace, 
whose  mind  is  staid  upon  thee ' ;  I  was  reading  it 
this  morning.  You  see  1  must  be  a  very  poor 
Christian,  or  I  should  not  have  doubted  a  minute. 
But  even  a  Christian,  and  the  best,  must  be  sorry 
sometimes  for  things  he  cannot  help,"  said  Dolly. 

"Then  you  were  not  troubled  about  yourself  just 
now  ?  "  said  Rupert. 

"Yes,  I  was!  I  was  indeed,  in  spite  of  all  those 
words  and  a  great  many  others.  I  believe  I  forgot 
them." 

"I  should  think,  if  God  gives  people  promises, 


SEEING  SIGHTS.  329 

he  would  like  them  to  be  trusted,"  said  Kupert 
"That's  what  ice  do." 

Dolly  looked  at  him  again  as  if  he  had  said 
something  that  struck  her;  and  then  she  got  up, 
and  taking  his  arm  set  off  this  time  at  a  business 
pace.  She  knew,  she  said,  where  to  find  what  she 
wanted;  however,  she  had  gone  out  of  her  way, 
and  it  cost  her  some  trouble  and  time  to  get  to  the 
place.  It  was  a  store  of  artists'  materials  among 
other  things;  and  here  Dolly  made  careful  pur- 
chases of  paper,  colours,  and  camel's  hair  pencils. 
Rupert  was  reassured  as  to  a  suspicion  that  had 
crossed  him,  that  part  of  Dolly's  trouble  might 
have  been  caused  by  want  of  means;  seeing  that 
she  was  buying  articles  of  amusement  with  a  free 
hand.  Then  Dolly  went  straight  home. 

All  the  rest  of  that  afternoon  she  sat  drawing. 
The  two  next  days,  the  weather  was  unfavourable 
for  going  out,  and  she  sat  at  her  work  persistently, 
whenever  she  was  not  obliged  to  be  reading  to  her 
mother  or  attending  upon  her.  The  day  following 
the  long-planned  visit  to  the  Green  vaults  was 
made.  In  the  evening  Lawrence  came  to  see 
them. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Copley;  tired?" — he  began. 

"  I  don't  know  which  part  of  me's  rn^st  tired," 
said  the  lady;  "my  eyes,  or  my  head,  cr  my  feet." 

"  Did  it  pay,  after  all  ?  " 

"Pay!  I  wouldn't  have  missed  it  for  a  year's 
length  of  life!  It  went  ahead  of  all  lever  thought 
of  or  dreamt  of.  It  was  most  like  Altddin's  lamp — 


330  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

or  what  he  saw,  I  mean,  when  he  went  down  into 
fairyland.  I  declare,  it  was  just  as  good." 

"  Only  that  you  could  not  put  things  in  your 
pockets.  What  would  you  have  brought,  Mrs. 
Copley,  if  it  had  been  safe  and  allowable?  The 
famous  egg  ?  " 

"Mercy,  no,  Mr.  St.  Leger !  I  shouldn't  have  a  min- 
ute's peace  of  my  life,  for  fear  I  should  lose  it  again." 

"  That's  about  how  they  say  the  first  owner  felt. 
They  tell  of  him,  that  a  lady  once  coaxed  him  to 
let  her  have  the  egg  in  her  hand ;  and  she  kept  it 
in  her  hand;  and  the  prince  forgot;  and  she  drove 
back  to  Dresden  with  it." 

"  Where  was  he,  the  prince  ?  " 

"At  some  hunting  castle,  I  believe.  It  was 
night  before  he  found  out  his  loss;  and  then  he 
booted  and  spurred  in  hot  haste  and  rode  to  Dres- 
den in  the  middle  of  the  night,  to  fetch  the  egg 
from  the  lady  again." 

"What's  the  use  of  things  that  give  folks  so 
much  trouble  ?  "  said  Rupert. 

"A  matter  of  taste!"  said  Lawrence,  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders.  "But  I  am  glad  to  have 
been  through  those  rooms  myself;  and  I  never 
should,  but  for  you,  Mrs.  Copley.  I  suppose  there 
is  hardly  the  like  to  be  seen  anywhere  else." 

"  What  delicious  things  there  were  in  the  ivory 
room,"  said  Dolly.  "Those  drunken  musicians, 
mother,  of  .Albert  D'urer;  and  some  of  the  vases; 
how  beautiful  they  were !  " 

"  I  did  not  tee  the  musicians,"  said  Mrs.  Copley. 


SEEING  SIGHTS.  331 

"  I  don't  see  how  drunken  musicians,  or  drunken 
anything,  could  be  pretty.  Odd  taste,  I  think." 

"Then  perhaps  you  didn't  like  the  piece  with 
the  fallen  angels?"  said  Rupert.  "That  beat  me!" 

"  How  could  there  be  peace  with  the  fallen  an- 
gels?" Mrs.  Copley  asked  scornfully.  At  which 
however  there  was  a  great  burst  of  laughter.  "  I 
liked  best  of  all  the  room  where  the  egg  was,  I 
believe.  But  the  silver  room  was  magnificent." 

"  I  liked  the  ivory  better  than  the  silver,  mother." 

"  Who  does  it  all  belong  to  ?  "  Rupert  asked. 

"  The  reigning  house  of  Saxony,"  Lawrence  an- 
swered. 

"The  whole  of  it?" 

"Yes." 

"  And  that  big  picture  gallery  into  the  bargain  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"That's  bein'  grasping,  for  any  one  family  to 
have  so  much,"  was  Rupert's  conclusion. 

"Well  you  see,"  said  Lawrence,  "we  get  the 
good  of  it,  and  they  have  the  care." 

"  I  don't  see  how  we  get  the  good  of  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Copley.  "  I  suppose  if  I  had  one  of  those  golden 
birds,  now,  with  the  eyes  of  diamonds;  or  one  of 
those  wonderfully  chased  silver  caskets;  I  should 
have  enough  to  keep  me  in  comfort  the  rest  of  my 
life.  I  think  things  are  queer,  somehow.  One  sin- 
gle one  of  those  jewels  that  lie  heaped  up  there, 
and  I  should  want  for  nothing  more  in  this  world. 
And  there  they  lie,  and  nobody  has  'em." 

"Do  you  want  for  anything  now,  mother  dear?" 


332  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

asked  Dolly.  She  was  busy  at  a  side  table,  arrang- 
ing something  in  a  little  frame,  and  did  not  look 
up  from  her  work. 

"  I  should  think  I  did ! "  was  Mrs.  Copley's  re- 
joinder. "What  don't  I  want,  from  breath  up?" 

"Here  you  have  had  one  wish  fulfilled  to-day 
— you  have  seen  the  Green  vaults — and  now  we 
are  going  to  Venice  to  fulfil  another  wish — what 
would  you  have  ?  " 

"I  don't  like  to  think  I  am  going  away  from 
here.  I  like  Dresden  best  of  all  the  places  we've 
been  in.  And  I  would  like  to  go  through  the 
Green  vaults — but  why  they  are  called  so  I  can- 
not conceive — about  once  every  month.  I  would 
never  get  tired." 

"  So  you  would  like  to  settle  in  Dresden  ?  "  said 
Lawrence.  "  I  don't  think  it  would  be  safe  to  let 
you  go  through  the  Green  vaults  often,  Mi-s.  Cop- 
ley; you  would  certainly  be  tempted  too  much  for 
your  principles.  Miss  Dolly,  we  had  better  get  her 
away.  When  do  we  go,  by  the  by  ?  " 

Instead  of  answering,  Dolly  rose  up  and  brought 
him  something  to  look  at;  a  plain  little  oval  frame 
of  black  wood,  within  which  was  a  head  in  light 
water  colours. 

"Mrs.  Copley  !  "  exclaimed  Lawrence. 

"Is  it  like?" 

"  Striking !  Capital.  I'm  not  much  of  a  judge 
of  painting  in  general,  but  I  know  a  friend's  face 
when  I  see  it;  and  this  is  to  the  life.  To  the  life! 
Graceful,  too.  Where  did  you  get  it  ?  " 


SEEING  SIGHTS.  333 

"  I  got  the  paper  and  the  paints  at  a  little  shop 
in — I  forget  the  name  of  the  strasse; — and  mother 
was  here  to  my  hand.  Ecco !  " 

"You  don't  mean  you  did  it?"  said  Lawrence, 
while  the  others  crowded  near  to  look. 

"  I  used  to  amuse  myself  with  that  kind  of  thing 
when  I  was  at  school,  and  I  had  always  a  knack 
at  catching  likenesses.  I  am  going  to  try  you, 
Rupert,  next." 

"  Ah,  try  me  !  "  cried  Lawrence.  "  Will  you  ? 
and  we  will  stay  in  Dresden  till  it  is  done." 

"Suppose  I  succeed,"  said  Dolly  softly, — "will 
you  get  me  orders  ?  " 

"Orders?—" 

"Yes.  To  paint  likenesses,  like  this,  in  minia- 
ture. I  can  take  ivory,  but  I  would  not  waste 
ivory  on  this  one.  I'll  do  yours  on  ivory  if  you 
like." 

"  But  orders  ?  "  said  Lawrence,  dumbfounded. 

"Yes,"  said  Dolly  nodding.  "Orders;  and  for 
as  high  pay  as  you  think  I  can  properly  ask. 
Hush !  say  nothing  to  mother — " 

"Is  that  like  me?"  Mrs.  Copley  asked,  after 
studying  the  little  picture. 

"  Capitally  like  you  !  "  Lawrence  cried. 

"Then  I've  changed  more'n  I  thought  I  had, 
that's  all.  I  don't  think  I  care  about  your  painting 
me  any  more,  Dolly,  if  that's  the  best  you  can  do." 

"  Why  Mrs.  Copley,"  said  Lawrence,  "  it's  beau- 
tiful. Exactly  your  turn  of  the  head,  and  the  deli- 
cate fresh  colour  in  your  cheeks. — It's  perfect !  " 


334  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  Is  it  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Copley  in  a  modified  tone. 
"  So  that's  what  you've  been  fussing  about,  Dolly, 
these  two  days.  Well,  take  Mr.  St.  Leger  next.. 
I  want  to  see  what  yoii'll  make  of  him.  She 
won't  natter  you,"  the  lady  went  on ;  "  that's  one 
thing  you  may  lay  your  account  with;  she  won't 
natter  you.  But  if  we're  going  away,  you  won't 
have  much  chance;  and  seems  to  me,  we  had 
better  settle  which  way  we  are  going." 

Lawrence  did  not  take  up  this  hint.  He  sat 
gazing  at  the  little  miniature,  which  was  in  its 
way  very  lovely.  The  colours  were  lightly  laid  in, 
the  whole  was  rather  sketchy;  but  the  grace  of 
the  delineation  was  remarkable,  and  the  likeness 
was  perfect;  and  Dolly  had  shewn  a  true  artist's 
eye  in  her  choice  of  position  and  point  of  view. 

"  I  did  not  know  you  had  such  a  wonderful  tal- 
ent— "  he  remarked. 

Dolly  made  no  answer. 

"  You'll  do  me  next  ?  " 

"  If  you  like  my  conditions." 

"  I  do  not  understand  them,"  he  said,  looking  up 
at  her. 

"  I  want  orders — "  Dolly  said  almost  in  a  whis- 
per. 

"  Orders  ?  To  paint  things  like  this  ?  For  mon- 
ey ?  Nonsense,  Dolly !  " 

"  As  you  please,  Mr.  St.  Leger ;  then  I  will  stay 
here  a  while  and  get  work  through  Frau  Wetter- 
hahn.  She  wants  me  to  paint  Jier." 

"  You  never  will !  " 


SEEING  SIGHTS.  335 

"  I'll  try." 

"  As  a  favour,  then  ?  " 

Dolly  lifted  her  eyes  and  smiled  at  the  young 
man;  a  smile  that  utterly  and  wholly  bewitched 
him.  Wilful  ?  yes,  he  thought  it  was  wilful,  but 
sweet  and  arch,  and  bright  with  hope  and  pur- 
pose and  conscious  independence;  a  little  defiant, 
a  great  deal  glad. 

"  Paint  me,"  said  he  hastily,  "  and  I'll  give  you 
anything  you  like." 

"Dolly  nodded.     "Very  well,"  said  she;    utn°oi 
you  may  talk  with  mother  about  our  route." 


CHAPTER  XX. 

LIMBURG. 

LAWRENCE  did  talk  with  Mrs.  Copley;  and 
the  result  of  the  discussion  was  that  the 
decision  and  management  of  their  movements  was 
finally  made  over  to  him.  Whether  it  happened 
by  design  or  not,  the  good  lady's  head  was  quite 
confused  among  the  different  plans  suggested ;  she 
could  understand  nothing  of  it,  she  said ;  and  so  it 
all  fell  into  Lawrence's  hand.  I  think  that  was 
what  he  wanted,  and  that  he  had  views  of  his  own 
to  gratify;  for  Dolly,  who  had  been  engaged  with 
other  matters  this  time,  expressed  some  surprise  a 
day  or  two  after  they  set  out,  at  finding  herself 
again  in  Weimar. 

"Going  back  the  way  we  came?"  she  cried. 

"  Only  for  a  little  distance — a  few  stages,"  ex- 
plained Lawrence ;  "  after  that  it  will  be  all  new." 

Dolly  did  not  much  care,  nor  know  enough  to 
correct  him  if  he  was  going  wrong;  she  gave  her- 
self up  to  hopeful  enjoyment  of  the  constantly 
vaiying  new  scenes  and  sights.  Mrs.  Copley  on 
the  contrary  seemed  able  to  enjoy  nothing  beyond 
the  shortening  of  the  distance  between  her  and 


LlMBURG.  337 

Venice.     If  she  had  known  how  much  longer  than 
was  necessary  Lawrence  had  made  it ! 

So  it  happened  that  they  were  going  one  day 
down  a  pleasant  road  which  led  along  a  river  val- 
ley, when  an  exclamation  from  Dolly  roused  her 
mother  out  of  a  half  nap.  "What  is  it?"  she 
asked. 

"  Mother,  such  a  beautiful,  beautiful  old  church ! 
Look — see  how  it  sits  up  there  grandly  on  the 
rock." 

"  Very  inconvenient,  I  should  think,"  said  Mrs. 
Copley,  giving  a  glance  out  of  the  carriage  win- 
dow. "I  shouldn't  think  people  would  like  to 
mount  up  there  often." 

"  I  believe,"  said  Lawrence,  also  looking  out 
now,  "that  must  be  a  famous  old  church — isn't 
this  Limburg? — yes.  It  is  the  cathedral  at  Lim- 
burg ;  a  very  fine  specimen  of  its  style,  Miss  Dolly, 
they  say." 

"  What  is  the  style  ?  it's  beautiful !     Gothic  ?  " 

"No, — aw — not  exactly.  I'm  not  learned  my- 
self, really,  in  such  matters.  I  hardly  know  a 
good  thing  when  I  see  it — never  studied  antiquities, 
you  know;  but  this  is  said,  I  know,  to  be  a  very 
good  thing."  / 

"  How  old  ?     It  does  not  look  antiquated." 

"  0  it  has  been  repaired  and  restored.  But  it  is 
not  Gothic,  so  it  dates  further  back;  what  they  call 
the  Transition  style." 

"  It  is  very  noble,"  said  Dolly.     "  Is  it  as  good 
inside  as  outside  ?  " 
22 


338  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  Dou't  know,  I  declare ;  I  suppose  so.  We  might 
go  in  and  see ;  let  the  horses  feed  and  Mrs.  Copley- 
take  a  rest." 

This  proposition  was  received  with  such  joy  by 
Dolly  that  it  was  at  once  acted  upon.  The  party 
sought  out  an  inn,  bespoke  some  luncheon,  and 
arranged  for  Mrs.  Copley's  repose.  But  chancing 
to  hear  from  Lawrence  that  the  treasures  of  art 
and  value  in  the  church  repositories  were  both 
rich  and  rare,  she  gave  up  the  promised  nap  and 
joined  the  party  who  went  to  the  dome.  After 
the  Dresden  Green  vaults,  she  said,  she  supposed 
nothing  new  could  be  found;  but  she  would  go 
and  see.  So  they  went  all  together.  If  Lawrence 
had  guessed  to  what  this  chance  visit  would  lead  ! 
But  that  is  precisely  what  people  can  never  know. 

Dolly  was  in  a  condition  of  growing  delight, 
which  every  step  increased.  Before  the  great 
front  of  the  cathedral  she  stood  still  and  looked 
up,  while  Kupert  and  Mrs.  Copley  turned  their 
backs  and  gazed  out  upon  the  wide  country  view. 
Lawrence  as  usual  when  he  could,  attended  upon 
Dolly. 

"  I  did  not  know  you  were  so  fond  of  this  kind 
of  thing,"  he  remarked,  seeing  a  little  enviously 
her  bright,  interested  eyes. 

"  It  lifts  me  almost  off  my  feet ! "  said  Dolly. 
"My  soul  don't  seem  big  enough  to  take  it  all 
in.  How  grand,  how  grand ! — Whose  statues  are 
those  ?  " 

"  Oh  each  side  ?  "  said  Lawrence,  who  had  been 


LlMBURG.  339 

collecting  information.  "  That  on  the  one  hand  is 
Heinrich  von  Isenburg,  the  founder;  and  the  other 
is  the  architect,  but  nobody  knows  his  name.  It 
is  lost.  St.  George  is  on  the  top  there." 

"  Well,"  said  Dolly,  "  he  is  just  as  well  off  as  if 
it  hadn't  been  lost !  " 

"  Who  ?  the  architect  ?  How  do  you  make  that 
out  ?  He  loses  all  the  glory." 

"  How  does  he  lose  it  ?  Do  you  think,"  said 
Dolly  smiling,  "  he  would  care,  in  the  other  world, 
to  know  that  you  and  I  liked  his  work  ?  " 

"  The  other  world !  "  said  St.  Leger. 

"  You  believe  in  it,  don't  you  ?  " 

"Yes,  certainly;  but  you  speak  as  if — 

"As  if  I  believed  in  it!"  said  Dolly  merrily. 
"You  speak  as  if  you  didn't." 

"I  do,  I  assure  you;  but  what  is  fame  then?" 

"  Nothing  at  all — "  said  Dolly.  "  Just  nothing 
at  all;  if  you  mean  people's  admiration  or  applause 
given  when  we  have  gone  beyond  reach  of  it." 

"  Beyond  reach  of  it ! "  said  Lawrence,  echoing 
her  words  again.  "  Miss  Dolly,  do  you  think  it  is 
no  use  to  have  one's  name  honoured  by  all  the 
world  for  ages  after  we  have  lived  ?  " 

"Very  good  for  the  world,"  said  Dolly,  with  a 
spice  of  amusement  visible  again. 

"  And  nothing  to  the  man  ?  " 

"What  should  it  be  to  the  man?"  said  Dolly, 
seriously  enough  now.  "Mr.  St.  Leger,  when  a 
man  has  got  beyond  this  world  with  its  little  cares 
and  interests,  there  will  be  just  one  question  for 


340  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

him, — whether  he  has  done  what  God  put  him  here 
to  do;  and  there  will  be  just  one  word  of  praise 
that  he  will  care  about, — the  '  Well  done ! ' — if  he 
may  have  it, — from  those  lips." 

Dolly  began  quietly,  but  her  colour  flushed  and 
her  lip  trembled  as  she  went  on,  and  her  eye 
sparkled  through  a  sudden  veil  of  tears.  Law- 
rence was  silenced  by  admiration,  and  almost  for- 
got what  they  were  talking  about. 

"  But  don't  you  think,"  he  began  again,  as  Dolly 
moved  towards  the  church  door,  "that  the  one 
thing — I  mean,  the  praise  here, — will  be  a  sort  of 
guaranty  for  the  praise  there  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Dolly.  "  '  That  which  is  highly  es- 
teemed among  men,  is  abomination  in  the  sight 
of  God,' — often,  often."  She  pushed  open  the  door 
and  went  in.  Only  a  little  way  in ;  there  she  stood 
still,  arrested  by  all  the  glory  and  the  beauty  that 
met  her  eye.  The  nobleness  of  form,  the  wealth 
of  colour,  the  multiplied  richness  of  both,  almost 
bewildered  her  at  first  entering.  Pillars,  arches, 
vaultings,  niches,  galleries,  arcades — a  wilderness 
of  harmonized  form;  and  every  panel  and  fair 
space  filled  with  painting.  She  could  not  see  de- 
tails yet;  she  was  lost  in  the  greatness  of  the 
whole. 

"Whom  has  Mrs.  Copley  picked  up?"  asked 
Lawrence  in  an  undertone.  After  all,  if  the  ar- 
chitect's posthumous  fame  had  depended  on  him, 
it  would  not  have  been  worth  much  eifort.  Mrs. 
Copley,  it  may  be  mentioned,  had  passed  on  while 


LlMBURG.  341 

Dolly  and  St.  Leger  had  stood  talking  outside; 
and  now  she  was  seen  in  the  distance  the  centre 
of  a  group  of  lively  talkers;  at  least  there  was  one 
lady  who  was  free  to  exercise  her  gifts  in  that 
way.  Lawrence  and  Dolly  slowly  advanced,  even 
Dolly's  attention  taken  for  a  moment  from  the 
church  by  this  extraordinary  combination.  Yes, 
Mrs.  Copley  had  found  acquaintances.  The  talker 
was  a  lady  of  about  her  own  age ;  a  gentleman  stood 
near,  a  little  behind  was  a  younger  lady,  while  Ku- 
pert  balanced  the  group  on  the  other  side. 

"There's  something  uncommon  over  yonder," 
whispered  Lawrence.  "Do  you  see  that  blond 
girl?  riot  blond  neither,  for  her  hair  isn't;  but 
what  an  exquisite  colour! — and  magnificent  fig- 
ure. Do  you  know  her?" 

"No— "  said  Dolly,— "I  think  not.  Yet  I  do. 
Who  can  it  be  ?  I  do  not  know  the  one  talking 
to  mother — " 

"And  this  is  she?"  the  elder  lady  was  saying  as 
Dolly  now  came  up,  looking  at  her  with  a  smiling 
face.  "  It's  quite  delightful  to  meet  friends  in  the 
midst  of  a  wilderness  so;  like  the  print  of  a  man's 
foot  on  the  sands  in  a  desert;  for  really,  in  the 
midst  of  strange  people  one  feels  cast  away.  She's 
handsomer  than  you  were,  Mrs.  Copley.  My  dear, 
do  you  know  your  old  schoolfellow  ?  " 

"  Chiistina  Thayer !  "  exclaimed  Dolly,  as  the 
other  young  lady  came  forward;  and  there  was 
a  joyful  recognition  on  both  sides." 

"  Who  is  your  friend?  "  Mrs.  Thayer  next  went  on. 


342  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  Won't  you  introduce  him  ?— St.  Leger  ?  Don't  I 
know  your  father?  Ernest  Singleton  St.  Leger? 
— Yes !  Why  he  was  a  great  beau  of  mine  once,  a 
good  while  ago,  you  know,"  she  added  nodding. 
"You  might  not  think  it,  but  he  was.  0  I  know 
him  very  well;  I  know  him  like  a  book.  You 
must  be  my  friend.  Christina,  this  is  Mr.  St. 
Leger;  my  old  friend's  son. — Mr.  Thayer." 

Mr.  Thayer  was  nothing  remarkable.  But  Chris- 
tina had  fulfilled  the  promise  of  her  girlhood  and 
developed  into  a  magnificent  beauty.  Her  skin 
shewed  the  richest,  clear,  creamy  white  tints,  upon 
which  in  her  cheeks  and  lips  the  carmine  lay  like 
rose  leaves.  Her  hair  was  light  brown  and  abun- 
dant, features  regular,  eyes  sweet;  she  was  one  of 
those  fair,  full,  stately,  placid  Saxon  types  of  beauty, 
which  are  not  very  common  in  America  and  re- 
markable anywhere.  Her  figure  was  roundly  and 
finely  developed,  rather  stately  and  slow  moving; 
which  characteristic  harmonized  with  all  the  rest  of 
her.  The  two  girls  were  as  unlike  each  other  as 
possible.  It  amused  and  half  fascinated  Lawrence 
to  watch  the  contrast.  It  seemed  to  be  noon  of  a 
summer  day  in  the  soul  of  Christina,  a  still  breadth 
of  light  withoiit  shadow;  there  was  a  murmur  of 
content  in  her  voice  when  she  spoke,  and  a  ripple 
of  content  in  her  laugh  when  she  laughed.  But 
the  light  quivered  on  Dolly's  lip,  and  gleamed 
and  sparkled  in  her  brown  eyes,  and  light  and 
shadow  could  flit  over  her  face  with  quick  change ; 
they  did  so  now. 


LlMBURG.  343 

Meanwhile  people  had  forgotten  the  old  cathe- 
dral. Christina  seemed  unaffectedly  glad  at  the 
meeting  with  her  friend  of  the  school  days. 

"  I'm  so  delighted,"  she  said,  drawing  Dolly  a 
little  apart.  "  Where  are  you?  where  do  you  come 
frftm,  I  mean  ?  how  come  you  to  be  here  ?  " 

"  We  come  from  Dresden;  we  are  on  our  way —  " 

"  You  are  living  in  London,  aren't  you  ?  I  heard 
that.  It's  too  good  to  meet  you  so !  for  Europe 
is  full  of  people,  no  doubt,  but  there  are  very 
few  that  I  care  for.  O  tell  me  where  you  are 
going  ?  " 

"  Venice,  first — ' 

"And  further  south?  you  are  going  on  into 
Italy?" 

"Yes,  I  think  so." 

"That's  delightful.  0  there's  nothing  like  Italy! 
It  is  not  your  wedding  journey,  Dolly  ? — "  with  a 
glance  at  the  very  handsome  young  man  who  was 
standing  in  waiting  a  few  paces  off. 

,"What    are    you    thinking    of!"    cried -Dolly. 
"Christina,  we  are  travelling  for  mother's  health — ' 

"  0  well,  I  didn't  suppose  it;  but  it  might  be,  you 
know;  it  will  be,  before  you  know  it.  It  isn't  mine, 
either ;  though  it  only  wants  two  things  of  it.  0  I 
want  to  tell  you  all  about  myself,  Dolly,  and  I  want 
to  shew  you  somebody;  I  have  got  somebody  to 
shew,  you  see.  You  will  come  and  make  us  a  visit, 
will  you  not?  0  you  must!  I  must  have  you." 

"You  said  it  wanted  only  two  things  of  being 
your  wedding  journey  ?  What  things  ?  " 


344  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"The  presence  of  the  gentleman,  and  the  per- 
formance of  the  ceremony."  And  as  Christina  said 
it,  a  delicate  peach-blossom  bloom  ripened  in  her 
chee'ks ;  you  could  hardly  say  that  she  blushed.  "  0 
the  gentleman  is  somewhere,  though  he  is  not  here," 
she  went  on,  with  that  ripple  of  laughter;  "and 
the  ceremony  is  somewhere  in  the  distance,  too. 
I  want  you  to  see  him,  Dolly.  I  am  proud  of  him. 
I  think  everything  in  the  world  of  him." 
"  I  suppose  I  may  know  his  name  ?  " 
"Christina,"  cried  Mrs.  Thayer,  "where  are  you? 
My  dear,  we  cannot  stand  here  and  talk  all  the  af- 
ternoon; our  friends  have  got  to  see  the  church. 
Isn't  it  a  delicious  old  place  ?  Just  go  round  and 
examine  things;  I  could  stay  here  forever.  Ev- 
ery little  place  where  there  is  room  for  it  is  filled 
with  the  quaintest,  queerest,  charmingest  paintings. 
Where  there  is  room  for  it,  there  is  a  group;  and 
where  there  is  not  a  group,  there  is  an  apostle  or 
a  saint ;  and  where  there  is  not  room  for  that,  there 
is  something  else,  which  this  unintelligible  old 
guide  will  explain  to  you.  And  think — for  years 
and  years  it  has  held  the  richest  collection — 0  just 
wait  and  see !  it  is  better  than  the  church  itself. 
My  dear,  the  riches  of  its  treasures  are  incalcula- 
ble. Fancy,  a  mitre,  a  -bishop's  mitre,  you  know, 
so  heavy  with  precious  stones  that  the  good  man 
cannot  bear  it  on  his  head  but  a  few  minutes;  over 
three  thousand  pearls  and  precious  stones  in  it; 
and  the  work,  0  the  work  of  it  is  wonderful;  just 
in  the  finest  renaissance — " 


LIMBURG.  345 

"  We  have  just  come  from  the  Green  vaults  at 
Dresden,"  put  in  Mrs.  Copley.  "  I  suppose  that 
goes  ahead  of  everything  else." 

"  O  my  dear,  I  don't  know ;  I  don't  see  how  any- 
thing can  be  superior  to  the  show  here.  Is  Mr.  St. 
Leger  fond  of  art  ?  " 

"Fonder  of  nature,"  Mr.  St.  Leger  confesses  with 
a  bow. 

"  Nature. — well,  come  to  see  us  at  Naples.  We 
have  got  a  villa  not  far  from  there — you'll  all  come 
and  stay  with  us.  0  we  cannot  let  you  off;  it  is 
such  a  thing  to  meet  with  one's  own  people,  from 
home.  You  will  certainly  want  to  see  us,  and  we 
shall  want  to  see  you. — Venice,  O  yes,  after  you 
have  seen  Venice,  and  then  we  shall  be  at  home 
again ;  we  just  set  off  on  this  journey  to  use  up  the 
time  until  the  "Red  Chief"  could  come  to  Naples. 
We  are  going  back  soon,  and  we'll  be  all  ready  to 
welcome  you.  And  Mr.  St.  Leger,  of  course.  Mr. 
St.  Leger,  I  could  tell  you  a  great  deal  about  your 
father.  He  and  I  flirted  dreadfully  once ;  and  you 
know,  if  flirting  is  properly  carried  on,  one  always 
has  a  little  sneaking  kindness  for  the  people  one 
has  flirted  with." 

"  No  more  than  that  ?  "  said  St.  Leger  with  a  po- 
lite smile. 

"Why  what  would  you  have?  after  one  has 
grown  old,  you  know.  You  would  not  have  me 
in  love  with  him  !  Here  is  my  husband,  and  my 
daughter —  Don't  you  have  a  kindness  for  the 
people  you  flirt  with  ?  " 


346  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  I  must  not  say  anything  against  flirting,  in  the 
present  company —  '  Lawrence  began. 

"  No,  of  course  you  mustn't.  We  all  flirt,  at  a 
certain  age.  How  are  young  people  to  get  ac- 
quainted with  one  another  and  find  out  what  they 
would  like  ?  You  never  buy  cheese  without  tast- 
ing it,  you  know;  not  in  England.  Just  as  well 
call  things  by  their  right  names.  I  don't  think 
anybody  ought  to  deny  flirting;  it's  nature;  we 
must  do  it.  Christina  flirts,  I  know,  in  the  most 
innocent  way,  with  everybody;  not  as  I  did;  she 
has  her  own  style ;  and  your  daughter  does  it  too, 
Mrs.  Copley.  I  can  see  it  in  her  eyes.  Ah,  me,  I 
wish  I  was  young  again !  And  what  a  place  to 
flirt  in  such  an  old  church  is ! " 

"  Oh  mamma !  " — came  from  Christina. 

"  Very  queer  taste,  I  should  say,"  remarked  Mrs. 
Copley. 

"It  isn't  taste;  it  is  combination  of  circum- 
stances," Mrs.  Thayer  smiling  went  on.  "  You 
see  if  I  don't  say  true.  My  dear,  such  a  place  as 
this  is  full  of  romance,  full !  Just  think  of  the  peo- 
ple that  have  been  married  here;  why  the  first 
church  was  built  here  in  814;  imagine  that !  " 

"  Enough  to  keep  one  from  flirting  for  ever,"  said 
Dolly,  on  whom  the  lady's  eye  fell  as  she  ended  her 
sentence. 

"  Just  go  in  and  see  those  jewels  and  hear  the 
stories,"  said  Mrs.  Thayer  nodding  at  her.  "  That 
old  woman  will  tell  you  stories  enough,  if  you  can 
understand  her;  Christina  had  to  translate  for  me; 


LlMBURG.  347 

but  my  dear,  there's  a  story  there  fit  to  break  your 
heart ;  about  a  blood  jasper.  It  is  carved ;  Mr.  Thay- 
er  says  the  carving  is  very  fine,  and  I  suppose  it  is ; 
but  all  I  thought  of  was  the  story.  My  dear,  the 
stone  is  all  spotted  with  dark  stains,  and  they  are 
said  to  be  the  stains  of  heart's  blood ;  0  it  is  as  trag- 
ical as  can  be.  You  see,  the  carver,  or  stone-cutter, 
— the  young  man  who  did  the  work, — loved  his 
master's  daughter — it's  a  very  romantic  story — and 
she—" 

"Flirted?"  suggested  St.  Leger. 

"Well  I  am  afraid  she  did;  but  it  is  the  old 
course  of  things;  her  father  thought  she  might 
look  higher,  you  know,  and  she  did;  married  the 
richest  nobleman  in  Verona;  and  the  young  man 
had  been  promised  her  if  he  did  his  work  well,  and 
the  work  is  magnificently  done ;  but  he  was  cheated ; 
and  he  drove  a  sharp  little  knife  into  his  heart. 
Christina,  what  was  the  old  master's  name?" 

"  I  forget,  mamma." 

"You  ought  not  to  forget;  you  will  want  to  tell 
the  story.  Of  course  /  have  forgotten;  I  did  not 
understand  it  at  the  time,  and  I  never  remember 
anything  besides;  but  he  was  very  famous,  and 
everybody  wanted  the  things  he  did,  and  he  could 
not  execute  all  the  commissions  he  got;  and  this 
young  man  was  his  best,  favourite  pupil." 

"How  came  the  stains  upon  the  stone?"  asked 
Lawrence.  "  Did  it  bleed  for  sympathy  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know ;  I  have  forgotten.  0  yes !  the 
stone  was  in  his  hand,  you  know." 


348  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

'  "And  it  was  sympathy?"  said  Lawrence  quite 
gravely,  though  Dolly  could  not  keep  her  lips  in 
order. 

"  No,  it  was  the  blood.  Go  in  and  you'll  see  it, 
and  all  the  rest.  And  there, —  "Where  are  you  go- 
ing ?  to  Venice  ?  We  are  going  on  to  Cologne  and 
then  back  to  Rome.  We  shall  meet  in  Rome  ?  You 
will  stay  in  Venice  for  a  few  weeks,  and  then  be  in 
Rome  about  Christmas;  and  then  we  will  make  ar- 
rangements for  a  visit  from  you  all.  0  yes,  we  must 
have  you  all." 

Lawrence  accompanied  the  lady  to  the  door,  and 
Christina  following  with  Dolly  earnestly  begged 
for  the  meeting  in  Rome,  and  that  Dolly  would 
spend  Christmas  with  her.  "  I  have  so  much  to 
tell  you,"  she  said;  "and  my — the  gentleman  I 
spoke  of — will  meet  us  in  Rome,  and  he  will  spend 
Christmas  with  us;  and  I  want  you  to  see  him.  I 
admire  Mr.  St.  Leger  very  much ! "  she  added  in  a 
confidential  whisper. 

"  Mr.  St.  Leger  is  nothing  to  me,"  said  Dolly 
steadily,  looking  in  her  friend's  face.  "  He  is  fa- 
ther's secretary,  and  is  taking  care  of  us  till  my 
father  can  come." 

"  0  well,  if  he  is  not  anything  to  you  noiv,  perhaps 
— you  never  know  what  will  be,"  said  Christina. 
"  He  is  very  handsome !  Don't  you  like  him  ?  I 
long  to  know  how  you  will  like — Mr.  Shubrick." 

"  Who  is  he  ? "  said  Dolly,  by  way  of  saying- 
something. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  yon  ?     He  is  first  officer  on  board 


LlMBURG.  349 

the  '  Red  Chief,'  one  of  our  finest  vessels  of  war;  it 
is  in  the  Mediterranean  now;  and  we  expect  him 
to  come  to  us  at  Christmas.  Manage  to  be  at  Rome 
then,  do,  dear;  and  afterwards  you  must  all  corne 
and  make  us  a  visit  at  our  villa,  near  Naples,  and 
we'll  shew  you  everything." 

"  Christina,"  said  Mrs.  Thayer,  when  she  and  her 
daughter  and  her  husband  were  safe  in  the  privacy 
of  their  carriage, — "that  is  a  son  of  the  rich  Eng- 
lish banker,  St.  Leger;  they  are  very  rich.  We 
must  be  polite  to  him." 

"  You  are  polite  to  everybody,  mamma." 

"  But  you  must  be  polite  to  him." 

"  I'll  try,  mamma — if  you  wish  it." 

"  I  wish  it,  of  course.  You  never  know  how  use- 
ful such  an  acquaintance  may  be  to  you.  Is  he  en- 
gaged to  that  girl  ?  " 

"  I  think  not,  mamma.     She  says  not." 

"That  don't  prove  anything,  though." 

"Yes,  it  does,  with  her.  Dolly  Copley  was  al- 
ways downright — not  like  the  rest."  - 

"Every  girl  thinks  it  is  fair  to  fib  about  her 
lovers.  However,  I  thought  he  looked  at  you, 
Christina,  not  exactly  as  if  he  were  a  bound 
man." 

"  He  is  too  late,"  said  the  girl  carelessly.  "  I  am 
a  bound  woman." 

"Well,  be  civil  to  him,"  said  her  mother.  "You 
never  know  what  people  may  do." 

"I  don't  care,  mamma.  Mr.  St.  Leger's  doings 
are  of  no  importance  to  me." 


350  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

Mrs.  Thayer  was  silent  now;  and  her  husband 
remarked  that  Mr.  St.  Leger  could  not  do  better 
than  pick  up  that  pretty,  wise-eyed,  little  girl. 

"  Wise-eyed !  she  is  that,  isn't  she  ?  "  cried  Chris- 
tina. "She  always  was.  She  is  grown  up  won- 
derfully pretty." 

"  She  is  no  more  to  be  compared  to  you,  than — 
Well,  never  mind,"  said  Mrs.  Thayer.  "  I  hope  we 
shall  see  more  of  them  at  Christmas.  Talk  of  eyes, 
— Mr.  St.  Leger's  eyes  are  beautiful.  Did  you 
notice  them  ?  " 

Dolly  on  her  side  had  seen  the  party  descend 
the  rocks,  looking  after  them  with  an  odd  feel- 
ing or  mixture  of  feelings.  The  meeting  with  her 
school  friend  had  brought  up  sudden  contrasts 
never  so  sharply  presented  to  her  before.  The 
gay  carelessness  of  those  old  times,  the  warm 
shelter  of  her  Aunt  Hal's  home,  the  absolute 
trust  in  her  father  and  mother, — where  was  all 
that  now?  Dolly  saw  Christina's  placid  features 
and  secure  gayety,  saw  her  surrounded  and  shel- 
tered by  her  parents'  arms,  strong  to  guard  and 
defend  her;  and  she  seemed  to  herself  lonely.  It 
fell  to  her  to  guard  and  defend  her  mother;  and 
her  father?  what  was  he  about? —  There  swept 
over  her  an  exceeding  bitter  cry  of  desolateness, 
unuttered,  but  as  it  were  the  cry  of  her  whole  soul ; 
with  again  that  sting  of  pain  which  seemed  un- 
endurable,— 0  how  can  a  father  let  his  child  be 
ashamed  of  him !  She  turned  away,  that  St.  Leger 
might  not  see  her  face;  she  felt  it  was  terribly 


LlMBURG.  351 

grave ;  and  betook  herself  now  to  the  examination 
of  the  church. 

And  the  still  beauty  and  loftiness  of  the  place 
wrought  upon  her  by  and  by  with  a  strange  effect. 
Wandering  along  among  pillars  and  galleries  and 
arcades,  where  saints  and  apostles  and  martyrs 
looked  down  upon  her  as  out  of  past  ages,  she 
seemed  to  be  surrounded  by  a  "  great  cloud  of  wit- 
nesses." They  looked  down  upon  her  with  grave, 
high  sympathy,  or  they  looked  up  with  grave,  high 
love  and  trust ;  they  testified  to  work  done  and  dan- 
gers met  and  suffering  borne,  for  Christ, — and  to 
the  glory  awaiting  them,  and  to  which  they  then 
looked  forward,  and  which  now  they  had  been  en- 
joying— how  long?  What  mattered  the  little 
troubled  human  day,  so  that  heaven's  long  sun- 
shine set  in  at  the  end  of  it?  and  that  sun  "shall 
no  more  go  down."  Dolly  roved  on  and  on,  going 
from  one  to  another  sometimes  lovely  sometimes 
stern  old  image ;  and  gradually  she  forgot  the  nine- 
teenth century,  and  dropped  back  into  the  past, 
and  so  came  to  take  a  distant  and  impartial  view 
of  herself  and  her  own  life ;  getting  a  better  stand- 
ard by  which  to  measure  the  one  and  regulate  the 
other.  She  too  could  live  and  work  for  Christ, 
what  though  the  work  were  different  and  less 
noteworthy;  what  matter,  so  that  she  were  doing 
what  He  gave  her  to  do  ?  Not  to  make  a  noise  in 
the  world,  either  by  preaching  or  dying;  not  to 
bear  persecution;  just  to  live  true  and  shine,  to 
comfort  and  cheer  her  mother,  to  reclaim  arid  save 


352  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

her  father,  to  trust  and  be  glad!  Yes,  less  than 
that  latter  would  not  do  full  honour  to  her  Master 
or  his  truth;  and  so  much  as  that  he  would  surely 
help  her  to  attain.  Dolly  wandered  about  the  ca- 
thedral, and  mused,  and  prayed,  and  grew  quiet 
arid  strong  she  thought;  while  her  mother  was 
viewing  the  church  treasures  with  Mr.  St.  Leger. 
Dolly  excused  herself,  preferring  the  church. 

"Dolly,  Dolly,"  said  Mrs.  Copley  when  at  last 
she  came  away,  "  you  don't  know  what  you  have 
lost." 

"  It  is  not  so  much  as  I  have  gained,  mother." 

"I'm  glad  we  have  seen  it,  Mr.  St.  Leger;  and 
I'm  glad  we  have  done  with  it !  I  don't  want  to 
see  any  more  sights  till  we  get  to  Venice.  Where 
are  the  Thayers  going,  Dolly  ?  " 

"To  Cologne,  mother,  and  to  Nice  and  Mentone, 
they  said." 

"  I  wish  they  were  coming  to  Venice.  How  fat 
Christina  has  grown ! " 

"0  mother!  She  is  a  regular  beauty — she  could 
not  do  with  less  flesh;  she  ought  not  to  lose  an 
ounce  of  it.  She  is  not  fat.  She  is  perfect.  Is 
she  not,  Mr.  St.  Leger  ?  " 

Lawrence  assented  that  Miss  Thayer  had  the 
symmetry  of  a  beautiful  statue. 

"Too  fat,"  said  Mrs.  Copley.  "If  she  is  a  statue 
now,  what  will  she  be  by  and  by?  I  don't  like 
that  sort  of  beauties.  Her  face  wants  life." 

"It  does  not  want  sweetness,"  said  Lawrence. 
"  It  is  a  very  attractive  face." 


LlMBURG.  353 

"  I  am  glad  we  stopped  here,  if  it  was  only  for 
the  meeting  them,"  said  Mrs.  Copley.  "But  I 
can't  see  how  you  could  miss  all  those  diamonds 
and  gold  and  silver  things,  Dolly.  They  were  just 
wonderful." 

"All  the  Green  vaults  did  not  give  me  the  pleas- 
ure this  old  church  did,  mother." 


CHAPTER    XXL 

VENICE. 

"  VTOU  and  your  friend  are  the  most  perfect  con- 

1  trast,"  remarked  Lawrence  as  they  were 
driving  away.  "  She  is  repose  in  action — and  you 
are  activity  in  repose." 

"That  sounds  well,"  Dolly  answered  after  a 
pause.  "  I  am  trying  to  think  whether  there  is 
any  meaning  in  it." 

"Certainly;  or  I  hope  so.  She  is  placidity  itself; 
one  wonders  if  she  could  be  anything  but  placid; 
while  you — ' 

"  Never  mind  about  me,"  said  Dolly  hastily.  "  I 
am  longing  to  know  whether  mother  will  like 
Venice." 

"Shall  you?" 

"01  like  everything." 

Which  was  the  blissful  truth.  Even  anxiety  did 
not  prevent  its  being  the  truth;  perhaps  anxiety- 
even  at  times  put  a  keener  edge  upon  enjoyment ; 
Dolly  fled  from  troublesome  thoughts  to  the  beau- 
ties of  a  landscape,  the  marvels  of  a  piece  of  medi- 
aeval architecture,  the  bewitchment  of  a  bit  of 
painting  from  an  old  master's  hand;  and  tasted, 


VENICE.  355 

and  lingered,  and  tasted  over  again  in  memory, 
all  the  beauty  and  the  marvel  and  the  bewitch- 
ment. Lawrence  smiled  to  himself  at  the  thought 
of  what  she  would  find  in  Venice. 

"There's  one  thing  I  don't  make  out,"  Kupert 
broke  in. 

"  Only  one  ? "  said  Lawrence.  But  the  other 
was  too  intent  to  heed  him. 

"  It  bothers  me,  why  the  people  that  could  build 
such  a  grand  church,  couldn't  make  better  houses 
for  themselves." 

"Ah!"  said  Lawrence.  "You  manage  that  bet- 
ter in  America  ?  " 

"  If  we  didn't — I'd  emigrate !  We  don't  have 
such  splendid  things  as  that  old  pile  of  stones," — 
looking  back  at  the  dome, — "but  our  farmhouses 
are  a  long  sight  ahead  of  this  country." 

"I  guess,  Rupert,"  Dolly  remarked  now,  "the 
men  that  built  the  dome  did  not  build  the  farm- 
houses." 

"  Who  built  the  dome,  as  you  call  it,  then  ?  But 
I  don't  see  any  dome;  there's  only  a  nest  of  towers." 

"The  nobles  built  the  great  cathedrals." 

"And  if  you  went  through  one  of  ihzir  houses," 
said  Lawrence,  "  you  would  not  think  they  neglect- 
ed number  one.  You  never  saw  anything  like 
an  old  German  schloss^  in  America." 

"  Then  the  nobles  had  all  the  money  ?  " 

"Pretty  much  so.  Except  the  rich  merchants 
in  some  of  the  cities;  and  they  built  grand  churches 
and  halls  and  the  like,  and  made  themselves  happy 


356  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

with  magnificence  at  home  in  other  ways;  not 
architecture." 

"I  am  glad  I  don't  belong  here,"  said  Eupert. 
"But  don't  the  people  know  any  better?" 

"  Than  what  ?  " 

"Than  to  let  the  grand  folks  have  it  all  their 
own  way  ?  " 

"They  were  brought  up  to  it,"  said  Lawrence. 
"That's  just  what  they  like." 

"  I  expect  they'll  wake  up  some  day,"  said  Ru- 
pert. Which  observation  Lawrence  did  not  think 
worthy  of  answer ;  as  it  was  ahead  of  the  time  and 
of  him  equally. 

They  made  no  unnecessary  delay  now  in  going 
on  to  Venice.  I  think  Lawrence  had  had  a  secret 
design  to  see  some  one  of  the  great  gaming  water- 
ing places;  and  they  had  come  back  to  the  banks 
of  the  Ehine  on  purpose.  But  however  both  Dolly 
and  her  mother  were  in  such  haste  that  he  could 
not  induce  them  by  any  motive  of  curiosity  or  in- 
terest to  stop.  Dolly  indeed  had  a  great  horror  of 
those  places,  and  did  not  want,  she  said,  to  see  how 
beautiful  they  were.  She  hoped  for  her  father's 
coming  to  them  in  Venice;  and  Mrs.  Copley  with 
the  nervous  restlessness  of  an  invalid  had  set  her 
mind  on  that  goal  and  would  not  look  at  anything 
short  of  it.  So  they  only  passed  through  Wies- 
baden and  went  on. 

It  was  evening  and  rainy  weather  when  they 
came  to  the  last  stage  of  their  journey,  and  left  the 
carriage  of  which  Mrs.  Copley  had  grown  so  weary. 


VENICE.  357 

"What  sort  of  a  place  is  this?"  she  asked 
presently. 

"  Not  much  of  a  place,"  said  Lawrence.  "  We 
will  leave  it  as  fast  as  possible." 

"Well,  I  should  hope  so.  What  are  these  things? 
and  is  that  a  canal  ?  " 

"We  should  call  it  a  canal  in  our  country,"  said 
Rupert;  "but  there  there'd  be  something  at  the  end 
of  it." 

"But  what  are  those  black  things?"  Mrs.  Copley 
repeated.  "Do  you  want  me  to  get  into  one  of 
them?  I  don't  like  it." 

"They  are  gondolas,  mother;  Venetian  gondolas. 
We  must  get  into  one,  if  we  want  to  go  to  Venice." 

"Where  is  Venice?"  said  Mrs.  Copley,  looking 
over  the  unpromising  landscape. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Dolly  laughing,  "but  Mr. 
St.  Leger  knows.  We  shall  be  there  in  a  little 
while  mother,  if  you'll  only  get  in." 

"I  don't  like  boats.  And  I  never  saw  such  boats 
as  those  in  my  life,"  said  Mrs.  Copley,  holding  back. 
"I  would  rather  keep  the  carriage  and  go  on  as  we 
came;  though  all  my  bones  are  aching.  I  would 
rather  go  in  the  carriage." 

"But  you  cannot,  mother;  there  are  no  carriages 
here.  The  way  is  by  water;  and  boats  are  the  only 
vehicles  used  in  Venice.  We  may  as  well  get  ac- 
customed to  them." 

"  No  carriages ! — " 

"  Why  surely  you  knew  that  before." 

"  I  didn't.     I  knew  there  were  things  to  go  on 


358  THE   END  OF  A  COIL. 

the  canals;  I  never  knew  they  were  such  forlorn- 
looking  things;  but  I  supposed  there  were  car- 
riages to  go  in  the  streets.  Are  there  no  carts, 
either  ?  How  is  the  baggage  going  ?  " 

"There  are  no  streets,  mother.  The  ways  are 
all  water  ways,  and  the  carriages  are  gondolas; 
and  it  is  just  as  lovely  as  it  can  be.  Come,  let  us 
try  it." 

"  What  are  the  houses  built  on  ?  " 

"  Mother,  suppose  you  get  in,  and  we'll  talk  as 
we  go  along.  We  had  better  get  out  of  the  rain, 
don't  you  think  so  ?  It  is  falling  quite  fast." 

"  I  had  rather  be  in  the  rain  than  in  the  sea. 
Dolly,  if  it  isn't  too  far,  I'll  walk." 

"It  is  too  far,  dear  mother.  You  could  not  do 
that.  It  is  a  long  way  yet." 

Lawrence  stood  by,  biting  his  lips  between  im- 
patience and  a  sense  of  the  ridiculous;  and  withal 
admiring  the  tender,  delicate  patience  of  the  girl 
who  gently  coaxed  and  reasoned  and  persuaded, 
and  finally  moved  Mrs.  Copley  to  suffer  herself  to 
be  put  in  the  gondola,  on  the  forward  deck  of 
which  Kupert  had  been  helping  the  gondoliers  to 
stow  some  of  the  baggage.  Dolly  immediately 
took  her  place  beside  her  mother;  the  two  young 
men  followed,  and  the  gondola  pushed  oft'.  Mrs. 
Copley  found  herself  comfortable  among  the  cush- 
ions, felt  that  the  motion  of  the  gondola  was 
smooth,  assured  herself  that  it  would  not  turn 
over;  finally  felt  at  leisure  to  make  observations 
again. 


VENICE.  359 

"  We  can't  see  anything  here,"  she  remarked, 
peering  out  first  on  one  side,  then  on  the  other. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  see,"  said  Lawrence,  "  but 
the  banks  of  the  canal." 

"Very  ugly  banks,  too.  Are  we  going  all  the 
way  by  water  now  ?  " 

"All  the  way,  to  our  hotel  door." 

"  Do  the  boatmen  know  where  to  go  ?  " 

"  Yes.     Have  no  fear." 

"  Why  don't  they  have  streets  in  Venice  ?  " 

"  Mother,  don't  you  remember,  the  city  is  built 
on  sand  banks,  and  the  sea  flows  between?  The 
only  streets  possible  are  like  this.  Could  anything 
be  better?  This  motion  will  not  fatigue  you;  and 
are  not  your  cushions  comfortable  ?  " 

"The  sea,  Dolly?"  cried  Mrs.  Copley,  catching 
the  word.  "  You  never  told  me  that.  If  the  sea 
comes  in,  it  must  be  rough  sometimes." 

"  No,  mother ;  it  is  a  shallow  level  for  miles  and 
miles,  covered  at  high  tide  by  a  few  feet  of  water, 
and  at  low  tide  bare.  Venice  is  built  on  the  sand 
banks  of  islands  which  rise  above  this  level." 

"  What  ever  made  people  choose  such  a  ridic- 
ulous place  to  build  a  city,  when  there  was  good 
ground  enough  ?  " 

"The  good  ground  was  not  safe  from  enemies, 
mother,  dear.  The  people  fled  to  these  sand  islands 
for  safety." 

"  Enemies !     What  enemies  ?  " 

So  the  history  had  to  be  further  gone  into;  in 
the  midst  of  which  Mrs.  Copley  burst  out  again. 


360  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  I'm  so  tired  of  this  canal ! — -just  mud  banks 
and  nothing  else.  How  much  longer  is  it  to 
last?" 

"We  shall  come  to  something  else  by  and  by. 
Have  patience,"  said  Lawrence. 

But  the  patience  of  three  of  them  was  tried, 
before  they  fairly  emerged  from  the  canal  and 
across  a  broader  water  saw  the  lines  of  building 
and  the  domes  of  Venice  before  them. 

"  You'll  soon  be  out  of  the  gondola  now,  mother 
dear,"  said  Dolly  delightedly.  For  the  rain  clouds 
had  lifted  a  little,  and  the  wide  spread  of  the  la- 
goon became  visible,  as  well  as  the  dim  line  of  the 
city;  and  Dolly's  heart  grew  big.  Mrs.  Copley's 
was  otherwise. 

"I'll  never  get  into  one  again,"  she  said,  refer- 
ring to  the  gondolas.  "  I  don't  like  it.  I  don't  feel 
as  if  I  was  anywhere. — There's  another, — there's 
two  more.  Are  they  all  painted  black  ?  " 

"  It  is  the  fashion  of  Venetian  gondolas." 

"  Well !  there  is  nothing  like  seeing  for  yourself. 
I  always  had  an  idea  gondolas  were  something 
romantic  and  pretty.  Is  the  water  deep  here  ?  " 

"No,  very  shallow,"  Lawrence  assured  her. 

"  It  looks  just  as  if  it  was  deep.  I  wouldn't  have 
come  to  Venice  if  I  had  known  what  a  forlorn  place 
it  is." 

But  who  shall  tell  the  different  impression  on 
Dolly's  mind,  when  the  city  was  really  readied 
and  the  gondola  entered  one  of  those  narrow  wa- 
ter ways  between  rows  of  palaces.  The  rain  had 


VENICE.  361 

begun  to  come  down  again,  it  is  true;  a  watery 
veil  hung  over  the  buildings,  drops  plashed  busily 
into  the  canal;  there  were  no  beautiful  effects  of 
sunlight  and  shadow;  and  Lawrence  himself  de- 
clared it  was  a  miserable  coming  to  Venice.  But 
Dolly  was  in  a  charmed  state.  She  noted  eagerly 
every  strange  detail;  bridges,  boats,  people;  was 
hardly  sorry  for  the  rain,  she  found  so  much  to 
delight  her  in  spite  of  it. 

"  What's  our  man  making  such  noises  for  ? " 
cried  Mrs.  Copley. 

"Just  to  give  warning  before  he  turns  a  cor- 
ner," Lawrence  explained, — "lest  he  should  run 
against  another  gondola." 

"  What  would  happen  then  ?  Is  the  water  deep 
enough  to  drown?  It  would  be  horrid  water  to 
be  drowned  in  !  "  said  Mrs.  Copley  shuddering. 

"No  danger,  mother;  we  are  not  going  to  try 
it,"  Dolly  said  soothingly. 

"  Nobody  is  ever  drowned  in  Venetian  canals," 
said  Lawrence.  "They  will  carry  us  safe  to  our 
hotel,  Mrs.  Copley ;  never  fear." 

"  But  hasn't  the  water  risen  ? "  she  exclaimed 
presently.  "It  is  up  to  the  steps  of  that  house 
there." 

"  It  is  up  to  all  the  steps,  mother,  so  that  peo- 
ple can  get  into  their  gondolas  at  their  very  door; 
don't  you  see  ?  " 

"  It  goes  ahead  of  everything ! "  exclaimed  Eu- 
pert,  who  had  scarce  spoken.  "  It's  like  being  in 
a  fairy  story." 


362  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  I  can't  see  much  beside  water,"  said  Mrs.  Cop- 
ley. "  Water  above  and  water  below.  It  must  be 
unhealthy.  And  I  thought  Venice  had  such  beau- 
tiful old  palaces.  I  don't  see  any  of  'em." 

"We  have  passed  several  of  them,"  said  Law- 
rence. 

"  I  can  see  nothing  but  black  walls — except 
those  queer  painted  sticks;  what  are  they  for?" 

"  To  tie  gondolas  in  waiting." 

"  What  are  they  painted  so  for  ?  " 

"The  colours  belonging  to  the  family  arms." 

"Whose  family ?  " 

"The  family  to  whom  the  house  belongs." 

"Dolly,"  said  Mrs.  Copley,  "we  shall  not  want 
to  stay  here  long.  WTe  might  go  on  and  try 
Eome.  Mrs.  Thayer  says  spring-time  is  the  best 
at  Naples." 

"It  will  all  look  very  different,  Mrs.  Copley, 
when  you  see  it  by  sunlight,"  said  Lawrence. 
"Wait  a  little." 

Dolly  would  have  enjoyed  every  inch  of  the 
way,  if  her  mother  would  have  let  her.  To  her 
eyes  the  novel  strangeness  of  the  scene  was  en- 
trancing. Not  beautiful  certainly;  not  beautiful 
yet;  by  mist  and  rain  and  darkness  how  should 
it  be  ?  but  she  relished  the  novelty.  The  charmed 
stillness  pleased  her;  the  gliding  gondolas;  the 
but  half  revealed  houses  and  palaces;  the  odd  con- 
veyance in  which  she  herself  was  seated;  the 
wonderful  water  ways,  the  strange  cries  of  the 
gondoliers.  It  was  not  half  spoiled  for  her,  as  it 


VENICE.  363 

was ;  and  she  trusted  the  morning  would  bring  for 
her  mother  a  better  mood. 

Something  of  a  better  mood  was  produced  that 
evening,  when  Mrs.  Copley  found  herself  in  a 
warm  room,  before  a  good  supper.  But  the  next 
morning  it  still  rained.  Dark  skies,  thick  atmos- 
phere, a  gloomy  outlook  upon  ways  where  no 
traveller  for  mere  pleasure  was  to  be  seen;  none 
but  people  bent  on  business  of  one  sort  or  another. 
Yet  everything  was  delightful  to  Dolly's  eyes;  the 
novelty  was  perfect,  the  picturesqueness  unde- 
niable. What  she  could  see  of  the  lagoon,  of  the 
vessels  at  anchor,  the  flying  gondolas,  the  canals 
and  the  bridges  over  them,  and  the  beautiful  Biva, 
put  Dolly  in  a  rapture.  Her  eye  roved,  her  heart 
swelled.  "0  mother!"  she  exclaimed, — "if  father 
would  only  come  ! — " 

"  What  then  ?  "  said  Mrs  Copley  dismally.  "He 
would  take  us  away,  I  hope." 

U0  but  not  until  we  have  seen  Venice." 

"/have  seen  Venice  enough  to  content  me.  It 
is  the  wettest  place  I  was  ever  in  in  my  life." 

"Why  it  rains,  mother.  Any  place  is  wet  when 
it  rains." 

"This  would  be  wet  at  all  times.  I  think  the 
ground  must  have  sunk,  Dolly;  people  would 
never  have  built  in  the  water  so.  The  ground 
must  have  sunk." 

"No,  mother;  I  guess  not.  It  has  been  always 
just  so." 

"  What  made  them  build  »here  then,  when  there 


364  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

is  all  the  earth  beside?  What  did  they  take  to 
the  Avater  for  ?  And  what  are  the  houses  standing 
on,  anyway  ?  " 

"  Islands,  mother,  between  which  these  canals 
run.  I  told  you  before." 

"I  should  think  the  people  hadn't  any  sense." 

And  nothing  would  tempt  Mrs.  Copley  out  that 
day.  Of  course  Dolly  must  stay  at  home  too, 
though  she  would  most  gladly  have  gone  about 
through  the  rainy,  silent  city  in  one  of  those  silent 
gondolas,  and  fed  her  eyes  at  every  step.  How- 
ever, she  made  herself  and  made  her  mother  as 
comfortable  as  she  could;  got  out  her  painting 
and  worked  at  Rupert's  portrait,  which  was  so  suc- 
cessful that  Lawrence  begged  she  would  begin 
upon  him  at  once. 

"  You  know  the  conditions — "  she  said. 

"I  accept  them.  Finish  one  of  me  so  good  as 
that,  and  I  will  send  it  to  my  mother  and  ask  her 
what  she  will  give  for  it." 

"  But  not  tell  her  ?— " 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  I  find,"  said  Dolly  slowly,  "  that  it  is  a  very 
great  compliment  for  a  lady  to  paint  a  gentleman's 
likeness." 

"Why?" 

"  She  has  to  give  so  much  attention  to  the  lines 
of  his  face !  I  shouldn't  like  to  paint  some  people. 
But  I'll  do  anybody,  for  a  consideration." 

"  Your  words  are  not  flattering,"  said  Lawrence, 
"even  if  your  actions  are." 


VENICE.  365 

"  No,"  said  Dolly.  "  Compliments  are  not  in  my 
way." 

And  though  she  made  a  beginning  upon  St. 
Leger's  picture,  and  studied  the  lines  of  his  face 
accordingly,  he  did  not  feel  flattered.  Dolly's  clear, 
intelligent  eyes  looked  at  him  as  steadily  and  as  un- 
movedly  as  if  he  had  been  a  Titian. 

The  next  day  brought  a  change.  If  Dolly  had 
watched  from  her  balcony  with  interest  the  day  be- 
fore, now  she  was  breathless  with  what  she  found. 
The  sun  was  shining  bright,  a  breeze  was  rippling 
the  waters  of  the  lagoon  and  gently  fluttering  a 
sail  and  a  streamer  here  and  there;  the  beautiful 
water  was  enlivened  with  vessels  of  all  kinds  and 
of  many  lands,  black  gondolas  darted  about;  and 
the  buildings  lining  the  shores  of  the  lagoon  stood 
to  view  in  their  beauty  and  magnificence  and  va- 
riety before  Dolly's  eye ;  the  doge's  palace,  here  and 
there  a  clock  tower,  here  and  there  the  bridge  over 
a  side  canal.  "O  mother,"  she  cried,  "we  have 
seen  nothing  like  this !  nothing  like  this !  " 

"  I  am  glad  it  don't  rain  at  least,"  said  Mrs. 
Copley.  "But  it  can't  be  healthy  here,  Dolly;  it 
must  be  damp." 

And  when  they  all  met  at  breakfast  and  plans 
for  the  day  began  to  be  discussed,  she  declared  that 
she  did  not  want  to  see  anything. 

"  Not  St.  Mark's  ?  "  said  Lawrence. 

"  What  is  St.  Mark's  ?  It  is  just  a  church.  I  am 
sure  we  have  seen  churches  enough." 

"  There  is  only  one  St.  Mark's  in  the  world." 


366  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  I  don't  care  if  there  were  a  dozen.  Is  it  better 
than  the  church  we  went  to  see  at — that  village 
near  Wiesbaden  ?  " 

"Limburg?     Much  better." 

"Well— that  will  do  for  me." 

"There  is  the  famous  old  palace  of  the  doges; 
and  the  Bridge  of  sighs,  Mrs.  Copley,  and  the 
prisons." 

"  Prisons  ?  you  don't  think  I  want  to  go  looking 
at  prisons,  do  you  ?  Why  should  I  ?  what's  in  the 
prisons  ?  " 

"Not  much.  There  has  been,  first  and  last,  a 
good  deal  of  misery  in  them." 

"  And  you  think  that  is  pleasant  to  look  at  ?  " 

Dolly  could  not  help  laughing,  and  confessed  she 
would  like  to  see  the  prisons. 

"  Well,  you  may  go,"  said  her  mother.  "  /  don't 
want  to." 

Lawrence  saw  that  Dolly's  disappointment  was 
like  to  be  bitter. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  shew  you,  Mrs.  Copley,  if 
you'll  trust  yourself  to  go  out,"  he  said.  "  I  have 
got  a  commission  from  my  mother  which  must  take 
me  into  one  of  the  wonderful  shops  of  curiosities 
here.  You  never  saw  such  a  shop.  Old  china,  of 
the  rarest,  and  old  furniture  of  the  most  delightful 
description,  and  old  curiosities  of  art  out  of  decayed 
old  palaces,  caskets,  vases,  trinkets,  mirrors,  and 
paintings." 

Mrs.  Copley  demurred.  "  Can  we  go  there  in  a 
carriage  ?  " 


VENICE.  367 

"  No  such  thing  to  be  had,  Except  a  gondola  car- 
riage. Come !  you  will  like  it.  Why,  Mrs.  Copley, 
the  streets  are  no  broader  than  very  narrow  alleys. 
Carriages  would  be  of  no  use." 

Mrs.  Copley  demurred,  but  was  tempted.  The 
gondola  went  better  by  day  than  in  the  night. 
Once  out,  Lawrence  used  his  advantage  and  took 
the  party  first  to  the  Place  of  St.  Mark,  where  he 
delighted  Dolly  with  a  sight  of  the  church.  Mrs. 
Copley  was  too  full  of  something  else  to  admire 
churches.  She  waited  and  endured,  while  Dolly's 
eyes  and  mind  devoured  the  new  feast  given  to 
them.  They  went  into  the  church,  up  to  the  roof, 
and  came  out  to  the  Piazza  again. 

"It  is  odd,"  said  Dolly — "I  see  it  is  beautiful;  I 
see  it  is  magnificent;  more  of  both  than  I  can  say; 
and  yet,  it  does  not  give  me  the  feeling  of  respect 
I  felt  for  that  old  dome  at  Limburg." 

"  But ! "  said  Lawrence ;  "that  won't  do,  you  know. 
St.  Mark's  and  Limburg !  that  opinion  cannot  stand. 
What  makes  you  say  so  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Dolly.  "I  have  a  feeling 
that  the  people  who  built  that  were  more  in  ear- 
nest than  the  people  who  built  this." 

"  More  in  earnest  ?  I  beg  your  pardon  !  "  said 
Lawrence.  "  What  can  you  mean  ?  I  should  say 
people  were  in  earnest  enough  here,  to  judge  by 
the  riches  of  the  place.  Just  see  the  adornment 
everywhere,  and  the  splendour." 

"  Yes,"  said  Dolly,  "  I  see.  It  is  partly  that. 
Though  there  was  adornment,  and  riches  too,  at 


368  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

the  other  place.  Biit  the  style  of  it  is  different. 
Those  grave  old  towers  at  Limburg  seemed  striv- 
ing up  into  the  sky.  I  don't  see  any  striving  here ; 
in  the  building,  I  mean." 

"Why,  there  are  pinnacles  enough,"  said  Law- 
rence, in  comical  inability  to  fathom  her  meaning, 
or  answer  her. 

"Yes," — said  Dolly;  "and  domes;  but  the  pin- 
nacles do  not  strive  after  anything,  and  the  cupo- 
las seem  to  settle  down  like  great  extinguishers 
upon  everything  like  striving." 

Lawrence  laughed,  and  thought  in  his  own  mind 
that  Dolly  was  a  little  American,  wanting  culture, 
and  knowing  nothing  about  architecture. 

"  What  is  that  great  long  building  ?  "  Mrs.  Cop- 
ley now  inquired. 

"  That,  mother  ?  that  is  the  palace  of  the  doges. 
0  where  is  the  Bridge  of  sighs  ?  " 

They  went  round  to  look  at  it  from  the  Ponte 
della  Paglia.  Nearer  investigation  had  to  be  de- 
ferred, or  Dolly  saw,  it  would  be  too  literally  a  bridge 
of  sighs  to  them  that  morning.  They  turned  their 
backs  on  the  splendours,  ecclesiastical  and  secular, 
of  the  Place  of  St.  Mark,  and  proceeded  to  the  store 
of  second  hand  curiosities  St.  Leger  had  promised 
Mrs.  Copley,  the  visit  to  which  could  no  longer  be 
deferred.  Dolly  was  in  a  dream  of  delight  all  the 
way.  Sunlight  on  the  old  palaces,  on  the  bridges 
over  the  canals,  on  the  wonderful  carvings  of  mar- 
bles, on  the  strange  water  ways ;  sunlight  and  col- 
our; ay,  and  shadow  and  colour  too,  for  the  sun 


VENICE.  369 

could  not  get  in  everywhere.  Between  the  beauty 
and  picturesqueness,  and  the  wealth  of  old  historic 
legend  and  story  clustering  about  it  everywhere, 
Dolly's  dream  was  entrancing. 

"  I  do  not  know  half  enough  about  Venice,"  she 
remarked  by  the  way.  "  Rupert,  we  must  read  up. 
As  soon  as  I  can  get  the  books,"  she  added  with  a 
laugh. 

However,  Dolly  was  susceptible  to  more  than  one 
sort  of  pleasure ;  and  when  the  party  had  reached 
the  Jew's  shop,  she  was  perhaps  as  much  pleased 
though  not  so  much  engrossed  as  her  mother.  For 
Mrs.  Copley,  figuratively  speaking,  was  taken  off 
her  feet.  This  was  another  thing  from  the  Green 
vaults  and  the  treasure  chamber  of  Limburg ;  here 
the  wonders  and  glories  were  not  unattainable,  if 
one  had  the  means  to  reach  them,  that  is;  and  not 
admiration  only,  but  longing,  filled  Mrs.  Copley's 
mind. 

"  I  must  have  that  cabinet,"  she  said.  "  I  sup- 
pose we  can  do  nothing  till  your  father  comes, 
Dolly.  Do  write  and  tell  him  to  bring  plenty  of 
money  along,  for  I  shall  want'  some.  Such  a  chance 
one  does  not  have  often  in  one's  life.  And  that 
cup!  Dolly,  I  must  have  that  cup;  it's  beyond 
everything  I  ever  did  see !  " 

"Mother,  look  at  this  ivory  carving." 

"That's  out  of  my  line,"  said  Mrs.  Copley  with  a 
slight  glance.     "  I  should  call  that  good  for  noth- 
ing, now.     What's  the  use  of  it  ?    But  O  Dolly,  see 
this  sideboard ! — " 
24 


370  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"You  don't  want  that,  mother." 

"  Why  don't  I  ?     The  price  is  not  so  very  much." 

"Think  of  the  expense  of  getting  it  home." 

"  There  is  no  such  great  difficulty  in  that.  You 
must  write  your  father,  Dolly,  to  send  if  he  does 
not  come,  at  once.  I  should  not  like  to  leave  these 
things  long.  Somebody  else  might  see  them." 

"Hundreds  have  seen  them  already,  Mrs.  Cop- 
ley," said  Lawrence.  "  There's  time  enough." 

"  I'd  rather  not  trust  to  that." 

"  What  things  do  you  want,  dear  mother,  se- 
riously ?  Anything  ?  " 

Dolly's  voice  carried  a  soft  insinuation  that  her 
mother's  wanting  anything  there  was  a  delusion ; 
Mrs.  Copley  flamed  out. 

"Do  you  think  I  am  coming  into  such  a  place  as 
this,  Dolly,  and  going  to  let  the  chance  slip  ?  1 
must  have  several  of  these  things.  I'll  tell  you. 
This  cup, — that  isn't  much.  Now  that  delicious 
old  china  vase — I  do  not  know  what  china  it  is, 
but  I'll  find  out ;  there  is  nothing  like  it,  I  don't  be- 
lieve, in  all  Boston.  I  have  chosen  that  sideboard ; 
that  is  quite  reasonable.  You  would  pay  quite  as 
much  in  Boston,  or  in  London,  for  a  common, 
handsome  bit  of  cabinet  maker's  work;  while  this 
is — -just  look  at  it,  Dolly;  see  these  drawers,  see 
these  compartments, — that's  for  wine  and  cordials, 
you  know — 

"  We  don't  want  wine  and  cordials,"  said  Dolly. 

"See  the  convenience  and  the  curiousness  of 
these  arrangements;  and  look  at  the  inlaying, 


VENICE.  371 

child !  It's  the  loveliest  thing  I  ever  saw  in  my 
life.  0  I  must  have  that.  And  it  would  be  a  sin 
to  leave  this  screen,  Dolly.  Where  ever  do  you 
suppose  that  came  from  ?  " 

"  Eastern  work," — said  Lawrence. 

"  What  eastern  work?  " 

"  Impossible  for  me  to  say.  Might  have  be- 
longed to  the  Great  Mogul,  by  the  looks  of  it. 
Do  you  admire  that,  Mrs.  Copley  ?  " 

"  How  should  it  come  here  ?  " 

"  Here  ?  the  very  place !  "  said  Lawrence.  "  What 
was  there  rare  or  costly  in  the  world,  that  did  not 
find  its  way  to  Venice  and  into  the  palaces  of  the 
old  nobles  ?  " 

"  But  how  came  it  here  ?  " 

"  Into  this  curiosity  shop  ?  The  old  nobles  went 
to  pieces,  and  their  precious  things  went  to  auc- 
tion; and  good  master  Judas  or  master  Levi 
bought  them." 

"And  these  things  were  in  the  palaces  of  the 
old  nobles  ?  " 

"  Many  of  them.  Perhaps  all  of  them.  I  should 
say,  a  large  proportion." 

"That  makes  them  worth  just  so  much  the 
more." 

"  You  need  not  tell  master  Levi  that.  And  you 
have  admired  so  much  this  morning,  Mrs.  Copley, 
if  you  will  take  my  advice,  it  will  be  most  discreet 
to  come  away  without  making  any  offer.  Do  not 
let  him  think  you  have  any  purpose  of  buying.  I 
am  afraid  he  will  put  on  a  fearful  price,  if  you  do." 


372  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"Whether  Lawrence  meant  this  counsel  seriously, 
or  whether  it  was  a  feint  to  get  Mrs.  Copley  safely 
out  of  the  shop,  Dolly  was  uncertain;  she  was 
grateful  to  Lawrence  all  the  same.  No  doubt  he 
had  seen  that  she  was  anxious.  He  had  been  in 
fact  amused  at  the  elder  lady  not  more  than  in- 
terested for  the  younger  one;  Dolly's  delicate  at- 
tempts to  draw  off  her  mother  from  thoughts  of 
buying  had  been  so  pretty,  affectionate  and  re- 
spectful in  manner,  sympathizing,  and  yet  steady 
in  self-denial.  Mrs.  Copley  was  hard  to  bring  off. 
She  looked  at  Lawrence,  doubtful  and  antagonistic, 
but  his  suggestion  had  been  too  entirely  in  her 
own  line  not  to  be  appreciated.  Mrs.  Copley  looked 
and  longed,  and  held  her  tongue;  except  from  ex- 
clamations. They  got  out  of  the  shop  at  last,  and 
Dolly  made  a  private  resolve  not  to  be  caught  there 
again  if  she  could  help  it. 

In  the  afternoon  she  devoted  herself  to  painting 
Lawrence's  picture.  Her  first  purpose  had  been  to 
take  a  profile  or  side  view  of  him;  but  St.  Leger 
declared,  if  the  likeness  was  for  his  mother  she 
would  never  be  satisfied  if  the  eyes  did  not  look 
straight  into  her  eyes;  so  Dolly  had  to  give  that 
point  up;  and  accordingly,  while  she  studied  him, 
he  had  full  and  equal  opportunity  to  study  her.  It 
was  a  doubtful  satisfaction.  He  could  rarely  meet 
Dolly's  eyes,  while  yet  he  saw  how  coolly  they  pe- 
rused him,  how  calmly  they  studied  him  as  an  ab- 
stract thing.  He  wanted  to  see  a  little  shyness,  a 
little  consciousness,  a  little  wavering,  in  those  clear, 


VENICE.  373 

•wise  orbs;  but  no!  Dolly  sat  at  her  work  and  did 
it  as  unconcernedly  as  if  she  were  five  years  old, 
to  all  appearance;  with  as  quiet,  calm  poise  of 
manner  and  simplicity  of  dignity  as  if  she  had 
been  fifty.  But  how  pretty  she  was !  Those  eyes 
of  hers  were  such  an  uncommon  mingling  of  child- 
hood and  womanhood,  and  so  lovely  in  cut  and 
colour  and  light;  and  the  mouth  was  the  most 
mobile  thing  ever  known  under  that  name,  and 
charming  in  every  mood  of  rest  or  movement.  The 
whole  delicate  face,  the  luxuriant  brown  hair,  the 
little  hands,  the  supple,  graceful  figure,  Lawrence 
studied  over  and  over  again ;  till  he  felt  it  was  not 
good  for  him. 

"Painting  a  person  must  make  you  well  acquaint- 
ed with  him —  "  he  began  after  a  long  silence,  dur- 
ing which  Dolly  had  been  very  busy. 

"  Outside  knowledge —  "  said  Dolly. 

"  Does  not  the  outside  always  tell  something  of 
what  is  within  ?  " 

"Something — "  Dolly  allowed  in  the  same  tone. 

"  What  do  you  see  in  me  ?  " 

"Mrs.  St.  Leger  will  know,  when  she  gets  this." 

"  What  you  see  in  me  ?  " 

"Well,  no, — perhaps  not." 

"  Couldn't  you  indulge  me  and  tell  me  ?  " 

"Why  should  I?" 

"  Out  of  kindness." 

"I  do  not  know  whether  it  would  be  a  kindness," 
said  Dolly  slowly. 

"You  see,  Dolly,  a  fellow  can't  stand  everything 


374  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

for  ever !  I  want  to  know  what  you  think  of  me, 
and  what  my  chances  are.  Come !  I've  been  pretty 
patient,  it  strikes  me.  Speak  out  a  bit." 

Mrs.  Copley  was  lying  down  to  rest,  and  Rupert 
had  left  the  room.  The  pair  were  alone. 

"  What  do  you  want  me  to  say,  Mr.  St.  Leger  ?  " 

"  Tell  me  what  you  see  in  me." 

"What  would  be  the  good  of  that?  I  see  an 
Englishman,  to  begin  with." 

"  You  see  that  in  me  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  I  am  glad,  but  I  didn't  know  it.  Is  that  an 
advantage  in  your  eyes?" 

"  Am  I  an  Englishwoman  ?  " 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  said  Lawrence,  "nor  like  it.  I 
never  saw  an  English  girl  the  least  like  you.  But 
you  might  grow  into  it,  Dolly,  don't  you  think  ?  " 

She  lifted  her  face  for  an  instant  and  gave  him 
a  flashing  glance  of  fun. 

"  Won't  you  try,  Dolly  ?  " 

"I  think  I  would  just  as  lieve  be  an  American." 

"  Why  ?     America  is  too  far  off." 

"Very  good  when  you  get  there,"  said  Dolly 
contentedly. 

"  But  not  better  than  we  have  on  our  side  ?  " 

"Well,  you  have  not  all  the  advantages  on 
your  side,"  said  Dolly,  much  occupied  with  her 
drawing. 

"Go  on,  and  tell  me  what  we  have  not." 

"  I  doubt  the  wisdom." 

"  I  beg  the  favour." 


VENICE.  •  375 

"It  would  not  please  you.  In  the  first  place, 
you  would  not  believe  me.  In  the  second  place, 
you  would  reckon  an  advantage  what  I  reckon  a 
disadvantage." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  said  Lawrence,  very  curi- 
ous and  at  the  same  time  uneasy.  Dolly  tried  to 
get  off,  but  he  held  her  to  the  point.  At  last  Dolly 
spoke  out. 

"Mr.  St.  Leger,  women  have  a  better  time  in  my 
country." 

"A  better  time?  Impossible.  There  are  no 
homes  in  the  world  where  wives  and  daughters 
are  better  cared  for  or  better  loved.  None  in  the 
world ! " 

"Ah,"  said  Dolly,  "they  are  too  well  cared  for." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Too  little  free." 

"  Free  ? "  said  Lawrence.  "  Is  that  what  you 
want?" 

"  And  not  quite  respected  enough." 

"  Dolly,  you  bewilder  me.  What  ever  did  you 
see  or  hear  to  make  you  think  our  women  are  not 
respected  ?  " 

"  I  dare  say  it  is  a  woman's  view,"  said  Dolly 
lightly.  But  Lawrence  eagerly  begged  her  to  ex- 
plain or  give  an  instance  of  what  she  meant. 

"  I  have  not  seen  much,  you  know,"  said  Dolly, 
painting  away.  "  But  I  heard  a  gentleman  once, 
at  his  own  diniiertable,  and  when  there  was  com- 
pany present,  —  I  was  not  the  only  visiter,  —  I 
heard  him  tell  his  wife  that  the  soup  was  nasty." 


376  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

And  Dolly  glanced  up  to  see  how  Lawrence 
took  it.  She  judiciously  did  not  tell  him  that  the 
house  was  his  own  father's  and  the  gentleman  in 
question  Mr.  St.  Leger  himself.  Lawrence  was 
silent  at  first.  I  presume  the  thing  was  not  so 
utterly  unfamiliar  as  that  he  should  be  much 
shocked;  while  he  did  perceive  that  here  was 
some  difference  of  the  point  of  view  between 
Dolly's  standpoint  and  his  own,  and  was  not  ready 
to  answer.  Dolly  glanced  up  at  him  significantly; 
still  Lawrence  did  not  find  words. 

"  That  didn't  mean  anything !  "  at  last  he  said. 

Dolly  glanced  at  him  again. 

"  I  suppose  the  soup  ivasrit  good.  Why  not  say 
so  ?  " 

"No  reason  why  he  should  not  say  so,  at  a  prop- 
er time  and  place." 

"  It  didn't  mean  any  harm,  Dolly." 

"  I  suppose  not." 

"  Then  what's  the  matter  ?  " 

" It  is  not  the  way  ive  do,"  said  Dolly.  "In  Amer- 
ica, I  mean.  Not  when  we  are  polite." 

"  Do  you  think  husband  and  wife  ought  to  be 
polite  to  each  other  ?  in  that  way  ?  " 

"  In  what  way  ?  " 

"That  they  should  not  call  things  by  their  right 
names  ?  " 

Here  Dolly  lifted  her  sweet  head  and  laughed; 
a  merry,  ringing,  musical,  very  much  amused  laugh. 
"  Ah,  you  see  you  are  an  Englishman,"  she  said. 
"  That  is  the  way  you  will  speak  to  your  wife." 


VENICE.  377 

"  I  will  never  speak  to  you,  Dolly,  in  any  way 
you  don't  like." 

"  No —  "  said  Dolly  gravely  and  returning  to  her 
work. 

"Aren't  you  ever  going  to  give  me  a  little  bit 
of  encouragement  ?"  said  he.  "  I  have  been  wait- 
ing, as  patiently  as  I  could.  May  I  tell  my  mother 
who  did  the  picture,  when  I  send  it  ?  " 

"  Say  it  was  done  by  a  deserving  young  artist, 
in  needy  circumstances;  but  no  names." 

"But  that's  not  true,  Dolly.  Your  father  is  as 
well  off  as  ever  he  was;  his  embarrassments  are 
only  temporary.  He  is  not  in  needy  circumstances." 

"  I  said  nothing  about  my  father.  Here,  Mr.  St. 
Leger, — come  and  look  at  it." 

The  finished  likeness  was  done  with  great  truth 
and  grace.  Dolly's  talent  was  an  extraordinary 
one,  and  had  not  been  uncultivated.  She  had  done 
her  best  in  the  present  instance,  and  the  result  was 
a  really  delicious  piece  of  work.  Lawrence  saw 
himself  given  to  great  advantage;  truly,  delicate- 
ly, characteristically.  He  was  delighted. 

"  I  will  send  it  right  off,"  he  said.  "  Mamma  has 
nothing  of  me  half  so  good." 

"  Ask  her  what  she  thinks  it  is  worth." 

"And  I  want  you  to  paint  a  duplicate  of  this,  for 
me;  for  myself." 

"  A  duplicate  !  "  cried  Dolly.     "  I  couldn't." 

"  Another  likeness  of  me  then,  in  another  view. 
Set  your  own  price." 

"  But  I  shall  never  make  my  fortune  painting 


378  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

you,"  said  Dolly.  "  You  must  get  me  some  other 
customers;  that  is  the  bargain." 

"What  notion  is  this,  Dolly ?  It  is  nonsense  be- 
tween me  and  you.  Why  not  let  things  be  settled? 
let  us  come  to  an  understanding,  and  give  up  this 
ridiculous  idea  of  painting  for  money ; — if  you  are 
in  earnest." 

"  I  am  always  in  earnest.  And  we  are  upon  an 
excellent  understanding,  Mr.  St.  Leger.  And  I 
want  money.  The  thing  is  as  harmonious  as  pos- 
sible." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

MR.  COPLEY. 

LAWRENCE  could  get  no  more  satisfaction  from 
Dolly.  She  left  him,  and  went  and  stood  at  the 
window  of  her  mother's  room,  looking  out.  The  sun- 
set landscape  was  glorious.  Bay  and  boats,  ship- 
ping, palaces,  canals  and  bridges,  all  coloured  in 
such  wonderful  colours,  brilliant  in  such  marvellous 
lights  and  shades,  as  northern  lands  do  not  know, 
though  they  have  their  own.  Yet  she  looked  at  it 
sadly.  It  was  Venice ;  but  when  would  her  father 
come  ?  All  her  future  seemed  doubtful  and  cloudy ; 
and  the  sunshine  which  is  merely  external  does  not 
in  some  moods  cast  even  a  reflection  of  brightness 
upon  one's  inner  world.  If  her  father  would  come, 
and  Lawrence  would  go, — if  her  father  would  come 
and  be  his  old  self, — but  what  large  "if's"  these 
were.  Dolly's  eyes  grew  misty.  Then  her  mother 
woke  up. 

"  What  are  you  looking  at,  Dolly  ?  " 
"  The  wonderful  sunset,  mother.    0  it  is  so  beau- 
tiful!    Do  come  here  and  see  the  colours  on  the 
sails  of  the  boats." 


380  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  When  do  you  think  your  father  will  be  here  ?  " 

"  0  soon,  I  hope.     He  ought  to  be  here  soon." 

"  Did  you  tell  him  I  would  want  money  to  buy 
things?  I  must  not  lose  that  sideboard." 

"There  was  no  need  to  write  about  that.  He 
can  always  get  money,  if  he  chooses,  as  well  here 
as  in  London.  If  he  has  it,  that  is ;  but  you  know, 
mother —  " 

"  I  know,"  Mrs.  Copley  interrupted,  "  that  is  all 
nonsense.  He  has  it.  He  always  did  have  it.  He 
has  been  spending  it  in  other  ways  lately;  that's 
what  it  is.  Getting  his  own  pleasure.  Now  it  is 
my  turn." 

"You  shall  have  it,  dear  mother,  if  I  can  manage 
it.  You  are  nicely  to-day,  aren't  you  ?  Venice 
agrees  with  you.  I'm  so  glad  !  " 

"I  think  everything  would  go  right,  Dolly,  if 
you  would  just  tell  Mr.  St.  Leger  that  you  will 
have  him.  I  don't  like  such  humming  and  haw- 
ing about  anything.  He  really  has  waited  long 
enough.  If  you  would  tell  him  that,  now,  or  tell 
me,  then  he  would  lend  me  the  money  I  want  to 
get  those  things.  I  am  afraid  of  losing  them. 
Dolly,  when  you  know  you  are  going  to  say  yes, 
why  not  say  it  ?  I  believe  I  should  get  well  then, 
right  oif.  You  would  be  safe  too,  any  way." 

Dolly  sighed  imperceptibly,  and  made  no  answer. 

"You  don't  half  appreciate  Mr.  St.  Leger.  He's 
just  a  splendid  young  man.  I  don't  believe  there's 
such  another  match  for  you  in  all  England.  You 
should  have  seen  how  keen  Mrs.  Thayer  was  to 


MR.  COPLEY.  381 

know  all  about  him.  Wouldn't  she  like  him  for  her 
daughter,  though !  and  she  is  handsome  enough,  ac- 
cording to  some  taste.  I  wish,  Dolly,  you'd  have 
everything  fixed  and  square  before  we  meet  the 
fhayers  again ;  or  you  cannot  tell  what  may  hap- 
pen. He  may  slip  through  your  fingers  yet." 

Dolly  made  as  little  answer  as  possible.  And 
further,  she  contrived  for  a  few  days  to  keep  her 
mother  from  the  curiosity  shops.  It  could  be  done 
only  by  staying  persistently  within  doors;  and 
Dolly  shut  herself  up  to  her  painting,  and  made 
excuses.  But  she  found  this  was  telling  unfa- 
vourably on  her  mother's  spirits,  and  so  on  her 
nerves  and  health;  and  she  began  to  go  out 
again,  though  chafing  at  her  dependence  on 
Lawrence,  and  longing  for  her  father  exceedingly. 

He  came  at  last;  and  Dolly  to  her  great  relief 
thought  he  looked  well;  though  certainly  not  glad 
to  be  in  Venice. 

"  How's  your  mother?  "  he  asked  her  when  they 
were  alone. 

"I  think  she  will  be  well  now,  father;  now  that 
you  have  come.  And  I  have  so  wanted  you ! " 

"  I  have  no  doubt  she  could  have  got  along  just 
as  well  without  me  till  she  went  to  Sorrento,  if  she 
had  only  thought  so." 

"  I  don't  think  she  could.  And  I  could  not, 
father.  I  do  not  like  to  be  left  so  much  to  Mr.  St. 
Leger's  care." 

"  He  likes  it.     How  has  he  behaved  ?  " 

"  He  has  behaved  very  well." 


382  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"Then  what's  the  matter?  " 

"1  don't  want  him  to  think  he  has  a  right  to 
take  care  of  us." 

"  He  has  the  right,  if  I  give  it  to  him.  And  you 
know  you  mean  to  give  him  the  right,  Dolly,  in 
permanence.  What's  the  use  of  fighting  shy  about 
it?  0  girls,  girls!  You  must  have  your  way,  I 
suppose.  Well,  now  I'm  here  to  look  after  you." 

And  the  business  of  sight-seeing  was  carried  on 
from  that  time  with  unabating  activity.  They 
went  everywhere,  and  still  Mr.  Copley  found  new 
things  for  them  to  see.  Mrs.  Copley  took  him 
into  the  curiosity  shops,  but  as  surely  he  took  her 
out  of  them,  with  not  much  done  in  the  way  of 
purchases.  Dolly  enjoyed  everything  during  the 
first  week  or  two.  She  would  have  enjoyed  it 
hugely,  only  that  the  lurking  care  about  her 
father  was  always  present  to  her  mind.  She  was 
not  at  rest.  Mr.  Copley  seemed  well  and  cheery; 
active  and  hearty  as  usual;  yet  Dolly  detected 
something  hollow  in  the  cheer  and  something 
forced  in  the  activity.  She  thought  him  restless 
and  uneasy,  in  spite  of  all  the  gayety. 

One  day  after  an  excursion  of  some  length  the 
party  had  turned  into  a  restaurant  to  refresh  them- 
selves. Chocolate  and  coffee  had  been  brought; 
and  then  Mr.  Copley  exclaimed,  "Hang  it!  this 
won't  do.  Have  you  drunk  nothing  but  slops  all 
this  while,  Lawrence?"  And  he  ordered  the 
waiter  to  bring  a  flask  of  Greek  wine.  Dolly's 
heart  leaped  to  her  mouth. 


MR.  COPLEY.  383 

"  Oh  no,  father !  "  she  said  pleadingly,  laying  her 
hand  on  his. 

"  Oh  no  what,  my  child?" 

"  No  wine,  please,  father ! "  There  was  more 
intensity  in  Dolly's  accents  than  perhaps  anybody 
knew  but  Mr.  Copley;  he  had  the  key;  and  the  low 
quaver  in  Dolly's  voice  did  not  escape  him.  He 
answered  without  letting  himself  meet  her  eyes. 

"Why  not?  Hasn't  Lawrence  given  you  any 
vino  dolce  since  you  have  been  in  foreign  parts. 
One  can  get  good  wine  in  Venice;  and  pure." 

"If  one  knows  where  to  go  for  it,"  added  St. 
Leger.  "  So  I  am  told." 

"You  have  not  found  out  by  experience  yet? 
"We  will  explore  together." 

"Not  for  wine,  father ? "  murmured  Dolly. 

"  Yes,  for  wine.  Wine  is  one  of  the  good  things. 
What  do  you  think  grapes  grow  for,  eh  ?  Certain- 
ly wine  is  a  good  thing,  if  it  is  properly  used.  Eh, 
Lawrence  ?  " 

"  1  have  always  thought  so,  sir." 

"  Cheer  your  mother  up  now,  Dolly.  I  believe  it 
would  do  her  lots  of  good.  Here  it  is.  We'll  try." 

Dolly  flushed  with  pain  and  anxiety.  Yet  here, 
how  could  she  speak  plainly?  Her  father  was 
opening  the  bottle,  and  the  waiter  was  setting 
the  glasses. 

"We  have  it  on  good  authority,  Miss  Dolly," 
Lawrence  said,  looking  at  her  and  not  sure  how 
far  he  might  venture, — "that  wine  'maketh  glad 
the  heart  of  man.' " 


384  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"And  on  the  same  authority  we  have  it  that 
'wine'is  a  mocker.'" 

"  What  will  you  do  with  contradictory  authority  ?  " 

"  They  are  not  contradictory,  those  two  words," 
said  Dolly.  "It  is  deceitful;  it  gets  hold  of  a  man, 
and  then  he  cannot  get  loose  from  it.  You  knoiv, 
Mr.  St.  Leger,  what  work  it  does." 

"  Not  good  wine,"  said  her  father,  tossing  off  his 
glass.  "  That's  fair;  nothing  extra.  I  think  we  can 
find  better.  Letitia,  try  it;  I  have  a  notion  it  will 
do  you  good; — ought  to  have  been  tried  before." 

And  he  filled  his  wife's  glass,  and  then  Dolly's, 
and  then  Rupert's.  Dolly  felt  as  nearly  desperate 
as  ever  in  her  life.  Her  father  had  the  air  of  a  man 
who  has  broken  through  a  slight  barrier  between 
him  and  comfort.  Mrs.  Copley  sipped  the  wine. 
Lawrence  looked  observingly  from  one  face  to  an- 
other. Then  Dolly  stretched  out  her  hand  and  laid 
it  upon  Eupert's  glass. 

"  Please  stand  by  me,  Rupert !  "  she  begged. 

"  I  will !  "  said  the  young  man  smiling.  "  What 
do  you  want  me  to  do  ?  " 

"Do  as  I  do." 

"  I  will." 

Dolly  lifted  her  glass  and  poured  the  contents  of 
it  into  the  nearly  emptied  chocolate  jug.  Rupert 
immediately  followed  her  example.  ., 

"  What's  that  for  ?  "  said  her  father,  frowning. 

"It's  waste,"  added  her  mother.  "I  call  that 
waste." 

"Don't  make  yourself  ridiculous,   Dolly!"  Mr. 


MR.  COPLEY.  385 

Copley  went  on.  "  My  child,  the  world  has  drunk 
Avine  ever  since  before  you  were  born,  and  it  will 
go  on  drinking  it  after  you  are  dead.  What  is  the 
use  of  trying  to  change  what  cannot  be  changed? 
What  can  you  do  ?  " 

"  Father,  I  will  not  help  a  bad  cause." 

"  How  is  it  a  bad  cause,  Miss  Dolly  ?  "  said  Law- 
rence now.  "  It  is  a  certain  pleasure, — but  what 
harm  ?  " 

"  Do  you  ask  me  that  ?  "  said  she,  with  a  look  of 
her  clear,  womanly  eyes,  which  it.  was  not  very 
pleasant  to  meet. 

"Well,  of  course,  if  people  misuse  the  thing," — 
he  began. 

"Do  they  often  misuse  it,  Mr.  St.  Leger?" 

"Well,  yes;  perhaps  they  do." 

"  Go  on.  What  are  the  consequences,  when  they 
misuse  it  ?  " 

"When  people  drink  too  much  bad  brandy  of 
course — but  wine  like  this  never  hurt  anybody." 

Dolly  thought,  it  had  hurt  her  that  day ;  but  she 
could  not  trust  her  voice  to  say  it.  Her  lips  trem- 
bled, her  beautiful  eyes  filled,  she  was  obliged  to 
wait.  And  how,  there  before  her  father  whom  the 
fruit  of  the  vine  had  certainly  hurt  grievously,  and 
before  Mr.  St.  Leger  who  knew  as  much  and  had 
seen  it,  could  she  put  the  thing  in  words?  Her 
father  had  chosen  his  time  cruelly.  And  where 
was  his  promise?  Dolly  fought  and  swallowed 
and  struggled  with  herself;  and  tried  to  regain 
command  of  voice. 
25 


386  THE  END  ,OF  A  COIL. 

"  It's  a  narrow  view,  ray  dear,"  said  Mr.  Copley, 
filling  his  glass  again,  to  Dolly's  infinite  horror;  "a 
narrow  view.  Well-bred  people  do  not  hold  it.  It 
is  always  a  mistake  to  set  yourself  against  the  world. 
The  world  is  generally  right." 

"  0  father,  do  you  think  so!  " 

"Not  a  doubt  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Copley,  sipping  the 
wine  and  looking  from  one  to  another  of  the  faces 
in  the  little  group.  "  Dolly  is  a  foolish  girl,  Ru- 
pert; do  not  let  her  persuade  you." 

"  It  certainly  is  not  the  wine  that  is  to  be  con- 
demned," said  Lawrence,  "  but  the  immoderate  use 
of  it.  That's  all." 

"  What  do  you  call  immoderate  use  of  it  ?  "  Ru- 
pert asked  now,  putting  the  question  in  Dolly's 
interest. 

"  More  than  your  head  can  bear,"  said  Lawrence. 
"  Keep  within  that  limit,  and  you're  all  right." 

"  Suppose  your  neighbour  cannot  bear  what  you 
can  ?  "  said  Dolly,  looking  at  him.  "  And  suppose 
your  example  tempts  him  ?  " 

"It's  his  business  to  know  what  he  can  take," 
said  Lawrence.  "  It  isn't  mine." 

"  But  suppose  he  is  drawn  on  by  your  example, 
and  drinks  more  than  he  can  bear?  What  follows, 
Mr.  St.  Leger  ?  " 

Dolly's  voice  had  a  pathetic  clang,  which  touched 
Rupert  and  I  think  embarrassed  Lawrence. 

"  If  he  is  so  unwise,  of  course  he  suffers  for  it. 
But  as  I  said,  that  is  his  business." 

"  And  not  yours  ?  " 


MR.  COPLEY.  387 

"  Of  course  not !  "  Mr.  Copley  broke  in.  "  Dolly, 
you  do  not  understand  the  world.  How  can  I  tell 
St.  Leger  how  much  he  is  to  drink  ?  or  he  tell  me 
how  much  I  must  ?  Don't  be  absurd,  child !  You 
grow  a  little  absurd,  living  alone." 

"Father,  I  think  the  world  might  be  better 
than  it  is.  And  one  person  helps  on  another,  for 
good  or  for  evil.  And  St.  Paul  was  not  of  your 
opinion." 

"St.  Paul?  What  did  he  say  about  it?  That 
one  must  not  drink  wine?  Not  at  all.  He  told 
Timothy,  or  somebody,  to  take  it,  for  his  stomach's 
sake." 

"  But  he  said, — that  if  meat  made  his  brother  to 
offend,  he  would  eat  no  meat  while  the  world  stood, 
lest  he  made  his  brother  to  offend.  Arid  meat  is 
certainly  a  good  thing." 

"  Well,  there  are  just  two  things  about  it,"  said 
Mr.  Copley;  "meat  is  not  wine,  and  I  am  not  St. 
Paul.  A  little  more,  Lawrence?  If  it  is  not  a 
man's  duty  to  look  after  his  neighbour's  potations, 
neither  is  it  a  woman's.  Dolly  is  young ;  she  will 
learn  better." 

If  she  did  not,  Lawrence  thought,  she  would  be 
an  inconvenient  helpmeet  for  him.  He  was  very 
much  in  love;  but  certainly  he  would  not  wish  his 
wife  to  take  up  a  crusade  against  society.  Perhaps 
Dolly  would  learn  better;  he  hoped  so.  Yet  the  lit- 
tle girl  had  some  reason  too;  for  her  father  gave 
her  trouble,  Lawrence  knew.  "  I'm  sorry,"  he 
thought,  "  deuced  sorry !  but  really  I  can't  be  ex- 


388  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

pected  to  take  Mr.  Copley,  wine  and  all,  on  my 
shoulders.  Eeally  it  is  not  my  look-out." 

Dolly  went  home  very  sober  and  careful.  It  is 
true,  not  much  wine  had  been  drunk  that  day. 
Yet  she  knew  a  line  had  been  passed,  the  passing 
of  which  was  significant  of  future  license  and  in- 
troductory to  it.  And  that  it  had  been  done  in 
her  presence  was  to  prove  to  her  that  her  influence 
could  avail  nothing.  It  was  bravado.  What  lay 
before  her  now  ? 

"Rupert,"  she  said  suddenly,  as  they  were  walk- 
ing together,  "let  us  make  a  solemn  pledge,  you 
and  I,  each  to  the  other,  that  we  will  never  drink 
wine  nor  anything  of  the  sort;  unless  we  must,  for 
sickness,  you  know." 

"  What  would  'be  the  good  of  that  ? "  said  the 
young  man  laughing. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Dolly,  from  whose  eyes  on 
the  contrary  hot  tears  began  to  drop.  "  Perhaps 
I  shall  save  you,  and  you  may  save  me ;  how  can 
we  tell  ?  " 

"  But  we  could  keep  from  it  just  the  same,  with- 
out pledging  ourselves  ? "  said  Rupert,  soberly 
enough  now. 

"Could;  but  we  might  be  tempted.  If  we  do 
this,  maybe  we  can  help  other  people,  as  well  as 
each  other." 

The  tears  were  coming  so  thick  from  Dolly's 
eyes  that  Rupert's  heart  was  sore  for  her.  She 
was  brushing  them  away,  right  and  left,  but  he 
saw  them  glitter  and  fall ;  and  he  thought  the  man 


MR.  COPLEY.  389 

who  could  for  the  sake  of  a  glass  of  wine  cause 
'  such  tears  to  be  shed,  was — I  won't  say  what  he 
thought  he  was.  He  was  mad  against  Mr.  Copley 
and  St.  Leger  too.  He  promised  whatever  Dolly 
wanted. 

And  when  they  were  at  home  and  an  opportu- 
nity was  found,  the  agreement  above  mentioned 
was  written  out,  and  Rupert  made  two  copies,  and 
one  of  them  he  kept  and  one  Dolly  kept;  both 
signed  with  both  their  names. 

So  Rupert  was  safe.  From  that  day,  however, 
things  went  less  well  with  Mr.  Copley.  He  began 
by  small  degrees  to  withdraw  himself  from  the 
constant  attendance  upon  his  wife  and  daughter 
which  he  had  hitherto  practised,  leaving  them 
again  to  Lawrence's  care.  By  little  and  little  this 
came  about.  Mr.  Copley  excused  himself  in  the 
morning,  and  was  with  them  in  the  evening;  then 
after  a  while  he  was  missing  in  the  evening.  Dol- 
ly tried  to  hold  him  fast,  by  getting  him  to  sit  for 
his  picture ;  and  the  very  observation  under  which 
she  held  him  so,  shewed  her  that  he  was  suffering 
from  evil  influences.  His  eyes  had  lost  something 
of  their  frank,  manly  sparkle ;  avoided  hers ;  looked 
dull  and  unsteady.  The  lines  of  his  whole  face  in- 
explicably were  changed;  an  expression  of  feeble- 
ness and  something  like  humiliation  taking  place 
of  the  alert,  bold,  self-sufficient  readiness  of  look 
and  tone  which  had  been  natural  to  him.  Dolly 
read  it  all,  with  a  heart  torn  in  two,  and  painted 
it  as  she  read  it;  making  a  capital  picture  of  him. 


390  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

But  it  grieved  Dolly  sorely,  while  it  delighted 
everybody  else. 

"  What  is  it  worth,  father  ?  "  she  asked,  conceal- 
ing as  well  as  she  could  what  she  felt. 

"  Worth  ?  it's  worth  anything  you  please.  It  is 
glorious,  Dolly !  " 

"  I  work  for  money,"  she  said  archly. 

"  Upon  my  word,  you  could  turn  a  pretty  penny 
if  you  did.  This  is  capital  work,"  said  he  turning 
to  Lawrence.  "  If  this  had  been  done  on  ivory, 
now — " 

"  I  did  a  likeness  of  Mr.  St.  Leger  for  his  mother 
— that  was  on  ivory.  She  sent  me  ten  pounds 
for  it." 

"Ten  pounds  to  her.  To  anybody  else,  I  should 
say  it  was  worth  twenty, — well,"  said  Mr.  Copley. 

"  So  I  say,  sir,"  Lawrence  answered.  "  I  am 
going  to  pay  that  price  for  my  copy." 

"  Then  will  you  pay  me  twenty  pounds,  sir  ?  " 

"I?"  said  Mr.  Copley.  "Not  exactly,  Dolly! 
I  am  not  made  of  money,  like  your  friend  Law- 
rence here.  Wish  I  could,  and  you  should  have  it." 

"  Will  you  get  me  customers,  then,  father  ?  " 

"  Customers !  "  echoed  Mr.  Copley. 

"  Yes.  Because  you  are  not  made  of  money,  you 
know,  father;  and  I  want  a  good  deal  of  money." 

"  You !  " — said  Mr.  Copley,  looking  at  her.  For 
indeed  Dolly  had  never  been  one  of  those  daugh- 
ters who  make  large  demands  on  their  father's 
purse.  But  Dolly  answered  now  with  a  calm  prac- 
tical tone  and  manner. 


MR.  COPLEY.  391 

u  Yes,  I  do,  father;  and  mother  has  a  longing  for 
some  of  those  Arabian  Nights  things  in  the  curi- 
osity shops.  You  know  people  enough  here,  father ; 
shew  them  your  picture  and  get  me  customers." 

"Don't  be  ridiculous,  Dolly,"  said  her  father. 
"  We  are  not  at  the  point  of  distress  yet.  And," 
he  added  in  a  graver  tone,  as  Lawrence  left  the 
room,  "you  must  remember,  that  even  if  I  were 
willing  to  see  my  daughter  working  as  a  portrait 
painter,  Mr.  St.  Leger  might  have  a  serious  objec- 
tion to  his  wife  doing  it — or  a  lady  who  is  to  be 
his  wife." 

"  Mr.  St.  Leger  may  dispose  of  his  wife  when  he 
gets  her,"  said  Dolly  calmly.  "I  am  not  that  lady." 

"Yes,  you  are." 

"Not  if  I  know  anything  about  it." 

"  Then  you  don't !  "  said  Mr.  Copley.  "  It  is  pro- 
verbial, that  girls  never  know  their  own  minds. 
Why,  Dolly,  it  would  be  the  making  of  you,  child." 

"  No,  father;  only  of  my  dresses." 

Mr.  Copley  was  a  little  provoked. 

"  What's  your  objection  to  St.  Leger  ?  Can  you 
give  one  ?  "  he  asked  hotly. 

"  Father,  he  doesn't  suit  me." 

"  You  don't  like  him,  because  you  don't  like  him. 
A  real  woman's  reason  !  Isn't  he  handsome  ?  " 

"  Very.     And  sleepy." 

"  He's  wide  awake  enough  for  purposes  of  busi- 


" Maybe;  not  for  purposes  of  pleasure.     Father, 
beautiful  paintings  and  grand  buildings  are  noth- 


392  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

ing  to  him;  nothing  at  all;  and  music  might  be 
the  tinkling  of  tin  kettles  for  all  the  meaning 
he  finds  in  it.  Father,  dear,  do  get  me  some 
customers ! " 

"  You  are  a  silly  girl,  Dolly ! "  said  her  father, 
breaking  away,  and  not  very  well  pleased.  Nei- 
ther did  he  bring  her  customers.  Those  were  not 
the  days  of  photographs.  Dolly  took  to  painting 
little  bits  of  views  in  Venice;  here  a  palace;  there 
a  bridge  over  a  canal;  the  pillars  with  the  dragon 
and  St.  Theodore,  the  Place  of  St.  Mark,  bits  of  the 
Kiva  with  boats;  she  finished  up  these  little  pict- 
ures with  great  care  and  delicacy  of  execution, 
and  then  employed  Eupert  to  dispose  of  them  in 
the  stationers'  and  fancy  shops.  He  had  some  diffi- 
culty at  first  in  finding  the  right  market  for  her 
wares;  however,  he  finally  succeeded;  and  Dolly 
could  sell  as  many  pictures  as  she  could  paint. 
True,  not  for  a  great  price;  they  did  not  pay  so 
well  as  likenesses;  but  Dolly  took  what  she  could 
get,  feeling  very  uncertain  of  supplies  for  a  time 
that  was  coming.  Mr.  Copley  certainly  was  not 
flush  with  his  money  now;  and  she  did  not  flatter 
herself  that  his  ways  were  mending. 

Less  and  less  did  his  wife  and  daughter  see  of 
his  company. 

"Rupert,"  said  Dolly  doubtfully  one  day,  "do 
you'  know  where  my  father  goes,  so  much  of  the 
time  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Eupert;  "that's  just  what  I  don't. 
But  I  can  find  out,  easy." 


MR.  COPLEY.  393 

Dolly  did  not  say  "  Do " ;  she  did  not  say 
anything;  she  stood  pondering  and  anxious  by 
the  window.  Neither  did  Rupert  ask  further; 
he  acted. 

It  came  by  degrees  to  be  a  pretty  regular  thing, 
that  Mr.  Copley  spent  the  evening  abroad,  excused 
himself  from  going  anywhere  with  his  family,  and 
when  they  did  see  him  wore  an  uncertain,  purpose- 
less, vagrant  sort  of  look  and  air.  By  degrees  this 
.began  to  strike  even  Mrs.  Copley. 

"  1  wish  you  would  just  make  up  your  mind  to 
marry  Mr.  St.  Leger !  "  she  said  almost  weepingly 
one  day.  "  Then  all  would  go  right.  I  believe  it 
would  make  me  well,  to  begin  with;  and  it  would 
bring  your  father  right  back  to  his  old  self." 

"  How,  mother  ?  "  Dolly  said  sadly. 

"It  would  give  him  spirit  at  once.  It  is  because 
he  is  out  of  spirits  that  he  does  so."  (Mrs.  Copley 
did  not  explain  herself.)  "I  know.  If  he  were 
once  sure  of  seeing  you  Mrs.  St.  Leger,  all  would 
come  right.  Lawrence  would  help  him ;  he  could 
help  him  then." 

"  Who  would  help  me  ?  " 

"  Nonsense,  Dolly !  Who  would  help  you  choose 
your  dresses  and  wear  your  diamonds;  that  is  all 
the  difficulty  you  would  have.  But  all's  going 
wrong ! "  said  Mrs.  Copley,  sinking  into  tears ; 
"  and  you  are  selfish,  like  everybody  else,  and 
think  only  of  yourself." 

Dolly  bore  this  in  silence.  It  startled  her,  how- 
ever, greatly,  to  find  her  own  view  of  things  held 


394  THE   END  OF  A  COIL. 

by  her  much  less  sharp-sighted  mother.  .  She  pon- 
dered on  what  was  best  to  do.  Should  she  sit  still 
and  quietly  see  her  father  lost  irretrievably  in  the 
bad  habits  which  were  creeping  upon  him  ?  But 
what  step  could  she  take  ?  She  asked  herself  this 
question  evening  after  evening. 

It  was  late  one  night,  and  Lawrence  as  well  as 
her  father  had  been  out  ever  since  dinner.  Mrs. 
Copley,  weary  and  dispirited,  had  gone  to  bed. 
Dolly  stood  at  the  window  looking  out,  not  to  see 
how  the  moonlight  sparkled  on  the  water  and 
glanced  on  the  vessels,  but  in  a  hopeless  sort  of 
expectancy  watching  for  her  father  to  come.  The 
stream  of  passers-by  had  grown  thin,  and  was 
growing  thinner. 

"  Rupert,"  Dolly  spoke  after  a  long  silence,  "  do 
you  know  where  my  father  is  ?  " 

"Can't  say  I  do.  I  could  give  a  pretty  fair 
guess,  though,  if  you  asked  me." 

"  Could  you  take  me  to  him  ?  " 

"  Take  you  to  him  !  "  exclaimed  the  young  man 
starting. 

"  Can  you  find  the  way  ?     Where  is  it  ?  " 

"  I've  been  there  often  enough,"  said  Rupert. 

"  What  place  is  it  ?  " 

"The  queerest  place  you  ever  saw.  Do  you 
recollect  Mr.  St.  Leger  telling  us  once  about  wine 
shops  in  Venice  ?  You  and  he  were  talking —  " 

"Yes,  yes,  I  remember.  Is  it  one  of  those? 
Not  a  cafe?" 

"Xot  a  cafe  at  all;  neither  a  cafe  nor  a  trattoria. 


MR.  COPLEY.  395 

Just  a  wine  shop.  Nothing  in  it  but  wine  casks, 
and  the  mugs  or  jugs  of  white  and  blue  crockery 
that  they  draw  the  wine  into ;  it's  the  most  ridicu- 
lous place  altogether  I  ever  was  in.  I  haven't 
been  in  it  now,  that's  a  fact." 

"  What  were  you  there  for  so  often,  then  ?  " 

"Well,"  —  said  Rupert,  "I  was  looking  after 
things — " 

"Drink  wine  and  eat  nothing!"  said  Dolly  again. 
"Are  there  many  people  there?" 

"  Well,  you  can  eat  if  you've  a  mind  to,  there 
are  folks  enough  to  sell  you  things;  though  they 
don't  belong  to  the  establishment.  They  come  in 
from  the  street,  with  ever  so  many  sorts  of  things, 
directly  they  see  a  customer  sit  down;  fish  and 
oysters,  and  cakes,  and  fruit.  But  the  shop  sells 
nothing  but  wine.  Mr.  St.  Leger  says  that  is 
good." 

"  Not  many  people  there  ?  "  Dolly  asked  again. 

"  No ;  not  unless  at  a  busy  time.  There  won't  be 
many  there  now,  I  guess." 

"  What  makes  you  think  my  father  is  there  ?  " 

"  I've  seen  him  there  pretty  often,"  Rupert  said 
in  a  low  voice. 

Dolly  stood  some  minutes  silent,  thinking,  and 
struggling  with  herself.  When  she  turned  to  Ru- 
pert at  the  end  of  those  minutes,  her  air  was  quite 
composed  and  her  voice  was  clear  and  calm. 

"Can  you  take  me  there,  Rupert?  Can  you 
find  the  way  ?  " 

"I  know  it  as  well  as  the  way  to  my  mouth. 


396  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

You  see,  I  didn't  know  but  maybe — I  couldn't  tell 
what  you  might  take  a  notion  to  want  me  to  do ; 
so  I  just  practised,  till  I  had  got  the  ins  and  outs 
of  the  thing.  And  there  are  a  good  many  ins  and 
outs,  I  can  tell  you.  But  I  know  them." 

"Then  we  will  go,"  said  Dolly.  "I'll  be  ready 
in  two  minutes." 

It  was  a  brilliant  moonlight  night,  as  I  said. 
Venice,  the  bride  of  the  Adriatic,  lay  as  if  robed 
in  silver  for  her  wedding.  The  air  was  soft,  late 
as  the  time  of  year  was ;  Dolly  had  no  need  of  any 
but  a  light  wrap  to  protect  her  in  her  midnight 
expedition.  Rupert  called  a  gondola,  and  pres- 
ently they  were  gliding  along,  as  still  as  ghosts, 
under  the  shadow  of  bridges,  past  glistening  pal- 
ace fronts,  again  in  the  deep  shade  of  a  wall  of 
buildings.  Wherever  the  light  struck  it  was  like 
molten  silver;  facades  and  carvings  stood  sharply 
revealed;  every  beauty  of  the  weird  city  seemed 
heightened  and  spiritualized;  almost  glorified;  while 
the  silence,  the  outward  peace,  gave  still  more  the 
impression  of  a  place  fai^-like  and  unreal.  It 
was  truly  a  wonderful  sail,  a  marvellous  passage 
through  an  enchanted  city,  never  to  be  forgotten 
by  either  of  the  two  young  people;  who  went  for 
some  distance  in  a  silence  as  if  a  spell  were  upon 
them  too. 

At  Dolly's  age,  with  all  its  elasticity,  some 
aspects  of  trouble  are  more  overwhelming  than 
in  later  years.  When  one  has  not  measured  life, 
not  learned  yet  the  relations  and  proportions  of 


MR.  COPLEY.  397 

things,  one  imagines  the  whole  earth  darkened 
by  the  cloud  which  is  but  hiding  the  sun  from  the 
spot  where  our  feet  stand.  And  before  one  has 
seen  what  wonders  Time  can  do,  the  ruin  wrought 
by  an  avalanche  or  a  flood  seems  irreparable.  It  is 
inconceivable,  that  the  bare  and  torn  rocks  should 
be  clothed  again,  the  choking  piles  of  rubbish  ever 
be  anything  but  dismal  and  unsightly,  the  strip- 
ped fields  ever  be  green  and  flourishing,  or  the 
torn-up  trees  be  ever  replaced.  Yet  Time  does  it 
all.  Come  after  a  while  to  look  again,  and  the 
traces  of  past  devastation  are  not  easy  to  find; 
nature's  weaving  has  so  covered  and  nature's  em- 
broidery has  so  adorned  the  bald  places.  In  hu- 
man life  there  is  something  like  this  often  done; 
though  as  I  said,  youth  wots  not  of  it  and  does 
not  believe  in  it.  So  Dolly  this  night  saw  her 
little  life  a  wilderness,  which  had  been  a  garden 
of  flowers.  Some  flowers  might  be  lifting  their 
heads  yet,  but  what  Dolly  looked  at  was  the  de- 
struction. Wrought  by  her  own  father's  hand ! 
I  cannot  tell  how  that  thought  stung  and  crushed 
Dolly.  What  would  anything  else  in  the  world 
have  mattered,  so  she  could  have  kept  him?  help 
could  have  been  found ;  but  to  lose  him,  her  father, 
and  not  by  death  but  by  change,  by  dishonour,  by 
loss  of  his  identity — Dolly  felt  indeed  that  a  storm 
had  come  upon  the  little  garden  of  her  life  from 
the  sweeping  ruin  of  which  there  could  be  no  re- 
vival. She  could  hardly  hold  her  head  lip,  for  a 
long  distance  of  that  midnight  sail;  yet  she  did, 


398  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

and  noted  as  they  passed  the  fairy  glories  of  the 
scene.  Just  noted  them,  to  deepen  if  possible  the 
pangs  at  her  heart.  All  this  beauty,  all  this  out- 
ward delight,  mocked  the  inner  reality;  and  made 
sharp  the  sense  of  it  with  the  contrast  of  what 
might  have  been.  As  they  went  along,  Venice 
became  to  her  fancy  a  grave  and  monument  of  lost 
things;  which  floated  together  in  her  mind's  vi- 
sion. Past  struggles  for  freedom,  beaten  back  or 
faded  out;  vanished  patriotism  and  art,  with  their 
champions;  extinct  ambitions  and  powers;  histori- 
cal glories  evaporated  as  it  were,  leaving  only  a 
scent  upon  the  air;  what  was  left  at  Venice  but 
monuments?  and  like  it  now  her  own  little  life 
gone  out  and  gone  down !  For  so  it  seemed  to 
Dolly.  Even  if  she  succeeded  in  her  mission  and 
brought  her  father  home,  what  safety?  what  se- 
curity could  she  have  ?  And  if  she  did  not  bring 
him — then  all  was  lost  indeed.  It  was  lost  any- 
how, she  thought,  as  far  as  her  own  life  was  con- 
cerned. Her  father  could  not  be  what  he  had  been 
again!  "0  father !  my  father !"  was  poor  Dolly's 
bitter  cry, — "  if  you  had  taken  anything  else  from 
me,  and  only  left  me  yourself! — " 

After  a  long  time,  when  she  spoke  to  Rupert,  it 
was  in  a  quiet,  unaltered  voice. 

"  Is  this  the  shortest  way,  Rupert  ?  " 

"As  like  as  not  it's  the  longest.     But,  you  see, 

it's  the  only  way  I  know.     I've  always  got  there 

starting 'from  the  Place  of  St.  Mark;  and  that  way 

I  know  what  I  am  about;  but  though  I  dare  say 


MR.  COPLEY.  399 

there's  a  short  cut  home,  I've  never  been  it,  and 
don't  know  it." 

Dolly  added  no  more. 

"It's  a  bit  of  a  walk  from  St.  Mark's,"  Kupert 
went  on.  "  Do  you  mind  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Dolly  sighing.  "  Rupert,  I  wish  you 
were  a  Christian  friend !  You  are  a  good  friend, 
but  I  wish  you  were  a  Christian  ! " 

"  Why  just  now  ?  " 

"  Nobody  else  can  give  one  comfort.  You  can- 
not, Rupert,  with  all  the  will  in  the  world ;  there  is 
no  comfort  in  anything  you  could  tell  me.  I  have 
only  one  Christian  friend  on  this  side  of  the  At- 
lantic; and  that  is  Mrs.  Jersey;  and  she  might  as 
well  be  in  America  too,  where  Aunt  Hal  is !  " 

Dolly  was  crying.     It  went  to  Rupert's  heart. 

"  What  could  a  Christian  friend  say  to  you  ?  "  he 
asked  at  length. 

"Remind  me  of  something,  or  of  some  words, 
that  I  ought  to  remember,"  said  Dolly,  still  weeping. 

"Of  what?"  said  Rupert.  "If  you  know,  tell 
me.  Remind  yoursefr;  that's  as  good  as  hav- 
ing some  one  else  remind  you.  What  comfort  is 
there  in  religion  for  a  great  trouble  ?  Is  there 
any  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Dolly. 

"  What  then  ?  Tell  us,  Miss  Dolly.  I  may  want 
it  some  time,  as  well  as  you." 

"  I  suppose  everybody  is  pretty  sure  to  want  it, 
some  time  in  his  life,"  said  Dolly  sadly,  but  trying 
to  wipe  away  her  tears. 


400  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  Let's  have  the  comfort  then,"  said  Eupert,  "  if 
you've  got  it." 

"Why,  are  you  in  trouble,  Rupert?"  she  said 
rousing  up.  "  What  about  ?  " 

"  Never  mind ;  let's  have  the  comfort ;  that's  the 
thing  wanted  just  now.  What  would  you  say  to 
me  now,  if  I  wanted  it  pretty  bad  ?  " 

"The  trouble  is,  it  is  so  hard  to  believe  what  God 
says,"  Dolly  said,  speaking  half  to  herself  and  half 
to  her  companion. 

"What  does  he  say?  Is  it  anything  a  fellow  can 
take  hold  of  and  hold  on  to  ?  I  never  could  make 
out  much  by  what  I've  heard  folks  tell ;  and  1  never 
heard  much  anyhow,  to  begin  with." 

"  One  of  the  things  that  are  good  to  me,"  said 
Dolly  bowing  her  face  on  her  hand,  "is — that 
Jesus  knows." 

"  Knows  what  ?  " 

"All  about  it — everything — my  trouble,  and 
your  trouble,  if  you  have  any." 

"  I  don't  see  the  comfort  in  that.  If  he  knows, 
why  don't  he  hinder?  I  suppose  he  can  hinder?" 

"He  does  hinder  whatever  would  be  real  harm  to 
his  people;  he  has  promised  that." 

"  Well,  ain't  this  real  harm,  that  is  worrying 
you?  "  said  Rupert.  "  What  do  you  call  harm?  " 

"  Pain  and  trouble  are  not  always  harm,"  said 
Dolly,  "for  his  children  often,  have  them,  I  know; 
and  no  trouble  seems  sweet  at  the  minute,  but 
bitter;  and  the  sweet  fruits  come  afterward.  0 
it's  so  bitter  now ! "  cried  poor  Dolly,  unable  to 


MR.  COPLEY.  401 

keep  the  tears  back  again; — "but  he  knows.     He 
knows." 

"  If  he  knows,"  said  Rupert,  wholly  unable  to  un- 
derstand this  reasoning, — "why  doesn't  he  hin- 
der? That's  what  I  look  at." 

"  I  don't  know, — "  said  Dolly  faintly. 

"What  comforts  you  in  that,  then  ?"  said  Eupert 
almost  impatiently.  "That's  too  big  a  mouthful 
for  me." 

"  No,  you're  wrong,"  said  Dolly.  "  He  knows 
why.  I  have  the  comfort  of  that,  and  so  I  am 
sure  there  is  a  why.  It  is  not  all  vague  chance 
and  confusion,  with  no  hand  to  rule  anything. 
Don't  you  see  what  a  difference  that  makes  ?  " 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,  that  everything  that  hap- 
pens is  for  the  best  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Dolly.  "Wrong  can  never  be  as 
good  as  right.  Only,  Rupert,  God  will  so  manage 
things  that  to  his  children — to  his  children, — good 
shall  come  out  of  evil,  and  nothing  really  hurt 
them." 

"  Then  the  promise  Is  only  for  them  ?  " 

"  That's  all.     How  could  it  be  for  the  others  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  it,"  said  Rupert.  "  Seems  to  my 
eyes  as  if  black  was  black  and  white  white;  it's 
the  fault  of  my  eyes,  I  s'pose.  It  is  only  moonshine, 
to  my  eyes,  that  makes  black  white." 

"Rupert,  you  do  not  understand.    I  will  tell  you. 
You  know  the  story  of  Joseph.     Well,  when  his 
brothers  tried  to  murder  him,  that  was  what  you 
call  evil,  wasn't  it  ?  " 
26 


402  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  Black,  and  no  moonshine  on  it." 

"Yet  it  led  to  Iris  being  sold  into  Egypt." 

"  What  was  the  moonshine  on  that  ?  He  was 
a  slave,  warn't  he  ? " 

"But  that  brought  him  to  be  governor  of  Egypt; 
he  was  the  means  of  the  plenty  in  the  land  through 
those  years  of  famine ;  and  by  his  power  and  influ- 
ence his  family  was  placed  in  the  best  of  the  land 
when  starvation  drove  them  down  there." 

"  But  why  must  he  be  sold  a  slave  to  begin  with  ?  " 

"  Good  reasons.  As  a  servant  of  Potiphar  he 
learned  to  know  all  about  the  land  and  its  produce 
and  its  cultivation,  and  the  peasant  people  that 
cultivated  it.  If  it  had  not  been  for  the  knowl- 
edge he  gained  as  a  slave,  Joseph  could  never  have 
known  what  to  do  as  a  governor." 

"  I  never  thought  of  that,"  said  Eupert,  his  tone 
changing. 

"Then  when  he  was  thrown  into  prison,  you 
would  have  said  that  was  a  black  experience  too?" 

"  I  should,  and  no  mistake." 

"  And  there,  among  the  great  prisoners  of  state, 
he  learned  to  know  about  the  politics  of  the 
country,  and  heard  what  he  never  could  have 
heard  talked  about  any  where  else;  and  there,  by 
interpreting  their  dreams,  he  recommended  him- 
self to  the  high  officers  of  Pharaoh.  Except 
through  the  prison,  it  is  impossible  to  see  how 
he,  a  poor  foreigner,  could  ever  have  come  to  be 
so  distinguished  at  the  king's  court;  for  the 
Egyptians  hated  and  despised  foreigners." 


MR.  COPLEY.  403 

"  I'll  be  whipped  if  that  ain't  a  good  sermon," 
said  Rupert  dryly;  "and  what's  more,  I  can  under- 
stand it,  which  I  can't  most  sermons  I've  heard. 
But  look  here, — do  you  think  God  takes  the  same 
sort  of  look-out  for  common  folks?  Joseph  was 
Joseph." 

"  The  care  comes  of  his  goodness,  not  out  of  our 
worthiness,"  said  Dolly,  the  tears  dripping  from 
her  eyes.  "  To  him,  Dolly  is  Dolly,  and  Rupert  is 
Rupert,  just  as  truly.  I  know  it,  and  yet  I  am  so 
ungrateful ! — " 

"  But  tell  me  then,"  Rupert  went  on,  "  how  comes 
it  that  God,  who  can  do  everything,  does  not 
make  people  good  right  off?  Half  the  trouble 
in  the  world  comes  of  folks'  wrong^headedness ; 
why  don't  he  make  'em  reasonable  ?  " 

"He  tries  to  make  them  reasonable." 

"  Tries  !    Why  don't  he  do  it  ?  " 

"  You,  for  instance,"  said  Dolly.  "  Because  he 
has  given  you  the  power  of  choice,  Rupert;  and 
you  know  yourself  that  obedience  would  not  be 
obedience  if«it  were  not  voluntary." 

On  this  theological  nut  Rupert  ruminated,  with- 
out finding  anything  to  say. 

"You  have  comforted  me,"  Dolly  went  on  pres- 
ently. "  Thank  you,  Rupert.  You  have  made  me 
remember  what  I  had  forgotten.  Just  look  at  that 
palace  front  in  the  moonlight ! — 

"  The  world's  a  queer  place,  though,"  said  Rupert, 
not  heeding  the  palace  front. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  of?  " 


404  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  This  city,  for  one  thing.  I've  been,  reading 
that  book  you  lent  me.  Hasn't  there  been  confu- 
sion enough,  though,  up  and  down  these  canals 
and  in  and  out  of  those  palaces !  and  the  rest  of 
the  world  is  pretty  much  in  the  same  way.  Only 
in  America  it  ain't  quite  so  bad.  I  suppose  be- 
cause we  haven't  had  time  enough." 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

THE  WINE   SHOP. 

IT  was  past  twelve  by  the  clock  tower  when  the 
two  left  the  gondola  and  entered  the  Place  of 
St.  Mark.  The  old  church  with  its  cupolas,  the 
open  Place,  the  pillars  with  St.  Theodore  and  the 
dragon,  the  palace  of  the  doges  with  its  open  stone 
work,  shewed  like  a  scene  out  of  another  world; 
so  unearthly  beautiful,  so  weird  and  so  stately. 
There  had  been  that  day  some  festival  or  public 
occasion  which  had  called  the  multitude  together, 
and  lingerers  were  still  to  be  seen  here  and  there, 
and  the  windows  of  cafes  and  trattorie  were 
lighted,  and  the  buzz  of  voices  came  from  them. 
Dolly  and  Eupert  crossed  the  square  however 
without  more  than  a  moment's  lingering,  and 
plunged  presently  into  what  seemed  to  her  a  laby- 
rinth of  confused  ways.  Such  ways!  an  alley  in 
New  York  would  be  broad  in  comparison;  two 
women  in  hoops  would  have  been  obliged  to  use 
some  skill  to  pass  each  other;  they  threaded  the 
old  city  in  the  strangest  manner.  Eupert  went 
steadily  and  without  hesitation,  Dolly  wondered 
how  he  could,  through  one  into  another,  up  and 


406  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

down  over  bridge  after  bridge,  clearly  knowing 
his  way;  yet  it  was  a  nervous  walk  to  her,  for 
more  than  one  reason.  Sometimes  the  whole  line 
of  one  of  these  narrow  streets,  if  they  could  be 
called  so,  would  be  perfectly  dark;  the  moonlight 
not  getting  into  it  and  only  glittering  on  a  palace 
cornice  or  a  street  corner  in  view;  others,  lying 
right  for  the  moonbeams,  were  flooded  with  them 
from  one  turning  to  another.  Most  of  the  shops 
were  closed ;  but  the  sellers  of  fruit  had  not  shut 
tip  their  windows  yet,  and  now  and  then  a  cook- 
shop  made  a  most  peculiar  picture,  with  its  blazing 
fire  at  the  back  and  its  dishes  of  cooked  and  un- 
cooked viands  temptingly  displayed  at  the  street 
front.  Steadily  and  swiftly  Rupert  and  Dolly 
passed  on;  saw  these  things  without  stopping  to 
look  at  them,  but  yet  saw  them  so  that  in  all  after 
life  those  peculiar  effects  of  light  and  shade,  fire 
shine  and  moonlight,  Italian  fruits  and  vegetables 
and  fish  coloured  by  the  one  or  the  other  illumina- 
tion, were  never  lost  from  memory.  Here  there 
would  be  a  red  Vulcanic  glow  in  the  interior  of  a 
shop,  where  the  furnace  fire  was  flaming  up  about 
the  pots  and  pans  of  cookery;  and  at  the  street 
front,  at  the  window,  the  moonlight  glinting  white 
from  the  edge  of  a  dish  or  glancing  from  a  pane 
of  glass;  and  then  again  reflected  from  the  still 
waters  of  a  canal.  The  two  saw  these  things,  and 
never  forgot ;  but  Dolly  was  silent  and  Rupert  did 
not  know  what  to  say.  Yet  he  thought  he  felt  her 
arm  tremble  sometimes,  and  would  have  given  a 


THE  WINE  SHOP.  407 

great  deal  to  be  able  to  speak  to  purpose.  Perhaps 
Dolly  at  length  found  the  need  of  distraction  to  her 
thoughts,  for  she  it  was  that  first  said  anything. 

"  I  hope  mother  will  not  wake  up !  " 

"Why?" 

"She  would  not  understand  my  being  away." 

"  Then  she  does  not  know  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  dare  tell  her.  I  had  to  risk  it.  I  do 
not  want  her  ever  to  know,  Rupert,  if  it  can  be 
helped." 

"  She'll  be  no  wiser  for  me.  What  are  you  going 
to  do  now,  Miss  Dolly  ?  We  ain't  far  off  the  place." 

"  I  am  going  to  get  my  father  to  go  home  with 
me.  You  needn't  come  in.  Better  not.  You  go 
back  to  the  gondola  and  wait  there  for  a  little — 
say  a  quarter  or  half  an  hour ;  if  I  do  not  come  be- 
fore that,  then  go  on  home." 

"  But  you  cannot  go  anywhere  alone  ?  " 

"0  no;  I  shall  have  father;  but  I  cannot  tell 
which  way  he  may  take  to  get  home.  You  go 
back  to  the  gondola, — or  no,  be  in  front  of  St. 
Mark's;  that  would  be  better." 

"  I  am  afraid  to  leave  you,  Miss  Dolly." 

"  You  need  not.  One  gets  to  places  where  there 
is  nothing  to  fear  any  more." 

Rupert  was  not  sure  what  she  meant;  her  voice 
had  a  peculiar  cadence  which  struck  him.  Then 
they  turned  another  corner,  and  a  few  steps  ahead 
of  them  saw  the  light  from  a  window  making  a 
strip  of  illumination  across  the  street,  which  here 
was  Tin  visited  by  the  moonbeams. 


408  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  That  is  the  place,"  said  Bupert. 

Dolly  slackened  her  walk,  and  the  next  minute 
paused  before  the  window  and  looked  in.  The 
light  was  not  brilliant,  yet  sufficient  to  shew  sev- 
eral men  within,  some  sitting  and  drinking,  some 
in  attendance;  and  Dolly  easily  recognized  one 
among  the  former  number.  She  drew  her  arm 
from  Eupert's. 

"  Now  go  back  to  St.  Mark's,"  she  whispered.  "  I 
wish  it.  Yes,  I  would  rather  go  in  alone.  Wait 
for  me  a  little  while  in  front  of  St.  Mark's." 

She  stood  still  yet  half  a  minute,  making  her  ob- 
servations or  getting  up  her  resolution ;  then  with 
a  light,  swift  step  passed  into  the  shop.  Rupert 
could  not  obey  her  and  go  at  once ;  he  felt  he  must 
see  what  she  did  and  what  her  reception  promised 
to  be;  he  came  a  little  nearer  to  the  window  and 
gazed  anxiously  in.  The  minutes  he  stood  there 
burned  the  scene  for  ever  into  his  memory. 

The  light  shone  in  a  wide,  spacious  apartment 
which  it  but  gloomily  revealed.  There  was  noth- 
ing whatever  of  the  outward  attractions  with  which 
in  New  York  or  London  a  drinking  saloon,  not  of 
a  low  order,  would  have  been  made  pleasant  and 
inviting.  The  wine  had  need  to  be  good,  thought 
Rupert,  when  men  would  come  to  such  a  place  as 
this  and  spend  time  there,  simply  for  the  pleasure 
of  drinking  it.  Yet  several  men  were  there,  taking 
that  pleasure,  even  so  late  as  the  hour  was;  and 
they  were  respectable  men,  at  least  if  their  dress 
could  be  taken  in  testimony.  They  sat  with  mugs 


THE  WINE  SHOP.  409 

and  glasses  before  them ;  one  had  a  plate  of  olives 
also,  another  had  some  other  tit-bit  or  provocative; 
one  seemed  to  be  in  converse  with  Mr.  Copley,  who 
was  not  beyond  converse  yet,  though  Rupert  saw 
he  had  been  some  time  drinking.  His  face  was 
flushed  a  little,  his  eyes  dull,  his  features  over- 
spread with  that  inane  stupidity  which  comes  from 
long  continued  and  purely  sensual  indulgence  of 
any  kind,  especially  under  the  fumes  of  wine.  To 
the  side  of  this  man,  Rupert  saw  Dolly  go.  She 
went  in,  as  I  said,  with  a  light,  quick  step,  looked 
at  nobody  else,  made  straight  to  her  father,  and 
laid  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  With  that  she 
threw  back  her  head  covering  a  little, — it  was 
some  sort  of  a  scarf,  of  white  and  brown  worsted 
knitting,  which  lay  around  her  head  like  a  glory, 
in  Rupert's  eyes, — and  shewed  her  face  to  her  fa- 
ther. Fair  and  delicate  and  sweet,  bright  and 
grave  at  once,  for  she  did  look  bright  even  there, 
she  stood  at  his  side  like  his  good  angel,  with  her 
little  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  No  wonder  Mr. 
Copley  started  and  looked  frightened;  that  was 
the  first  look;  and  then  confused.  Rupert  under- 
stood it  all,  though  he  could  not  hear  what  was 
said.  He  saw  the  man  was  embarrassed. 

"  Dolly  !  "  said  Mr.  Copley,  falling  back  upon  his 
first  thought,  as  the  easiest  to  speak  of, — "  what  is 
the  matter  ?  " 

"Nothing  with  me,  father.  Will  you  take  me 
home?" 

"  Where's  your  mother?  " 


410  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  She  is  at  home.     But  it  is  pretty  late,  father." 

"  Where's  Lawrence  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Where  is  Rupert,  then  ?  " 

"  He  is  out,  somewhere.  Will  you  go  home  with 
me,  father  ?  " 

"  How  did  you  come  here  ? "  said  Mr.  Copley, 
sitting  a  little  straighter  up  and  now  beginning  to 
replace  or  conceal  confusion  with  displeasure. 

"  1  will  tell  you.  I  will  tell  you  on  the  way. 
But  shall  we  go  first,  father?  I  don't  like  to  stay 
here." 

"  Here  ?  What  in  the  name  of  ten  thousand 
devils ! — Who  brought  you  here  ?  " 

"  I  am  alone,"  said  Dolly.  "  Hadn't  we  better 
go,  father?  and  then  we  can  talk  as  we  go." 

At  this  point  a  half  tipsy  Venetian  arose  and 
stepping  before  the  pair  with  a  low  reverence  said 
something  to  Mr.  Copley,  of  which  Dolly  only  un- 
derstood the  words,  "  La  bella  signorina;"  they 
made  her  however  draw  her  scarf  forward  over  her 
face  and  brought  Mr.  Copley  to  his  feet.  He  could 
stand,  she  saw,  but  whether  he  could  walk  very 
well  was  open  to  question. 

"Signer,  signor — "  he  began  stammering  and 
incensed.  Dolly  seized  his  arm. 

"  Shall  we  go,  father  ?  It  is  so  late,  and  mother 
might  want  me.  It  is  very  late,  father.  Never 
mind  anything,  but  come  !  " 

Mr.  Copley  was  sufficiently  himself  to  see  the 
necessity;  nevertheless  his  score  must  be  paid; 


THE  WINE  SHOP.  411 

and  his  head  was  in  a  bad  condition  for  reckon- 
ing. He  brought  out  some  silver  from  his  pocket 
and  stood  somewhat  helplessly  looking  at  it  and 
at  the  shopman  alternately;  then  with  an  awkward 
movement  of  his  elbow  contrived  to  throw  over  a 
glass,  which  fell  on  the  floor  and  broke.  Every- 
body was  looking  now  at  the  father  and  daughter, 
and  words  came  to  Dolly's  ears  which  made  her 
cheek  burn.  But  she  stood  calm,  self-possessed, 
waiting,  with  a  somewhat  lofty  air  of  maidenly 
dignity;  helped  her  father  solve  the  reckoning, 
paid  for  the  glass,  and  at  last  got  hold  of  his  arm 
and  drew  him  away;  after  a  gentle,  grave  saluta- 
tion to  the  attendant  which  he  answered  profound- 
ly and  which  brought  everybody  in  the  little  shop 
to  his  feet  in  involuntary  admiration  and  respect. 
Dolly  looked  at  nobody,  yet  with  sweet  courtesy 
made  a  distant  sign  of  acknowledgment  to  their 
homage,  and  the  next  minute  stood  outside  the 
shop  in  the  dark  little  street  and  the  rnild  still  air. 
I  think,  even  at  that  minute,  with  the  strange,  star- 
tling inappropriateness  of  license  which  thoughts 
give  themselves,  there  flashed  across  her  a  sense 
of  the  ironical  contrast  of  things  without  and  with- 
in her;  without,  Venice  and  her  historical  past  and 
her  monumental  glory;  within,  a  trembling  little 
heart  and  present  danger  and  a  burden  of  dishon- 
our. But  that  was  only  a  flash ;  the  needs  of  the 
minute  banished  all  thinking  that  was  not  con- 
nected with  action;  and  the  moment's  business 
was  to  get  her  father  home.  She  had  no  thought 


412  THE  END.  OF  A  COIL. 

now  for  the  picturesque  revealings  of  the  moon- 
light and  obscurings  of  the  shadow.  Yet  she  was 
conscious  of  them,  in  that  sharp  flash  of  contrast. 

At  getting  upon  his  feet  and  out  into  the  air  and 
gloom  of  the  little  street,  Mr.  Copley's  head  was 
very  contused;  or  else  he  had  taken  more  wine 
than  his  daughter  guessed.  He  was  not  fit  to 
guide  himself,  or  to  take  care  of  her.  As  he 
seemed  utterly  at  a  standstill,  Dolly  naturally  and 
unconsciously  set  her  face  to  go  the  way  she  had 
come;  for  one  or  two  turnings  at  least  she  was 
sure  of  it.  Before  those  one  or  two  turnings  were 
made,  however,  she  was  shocked  and  scared  to  find 
that  her  father's  walk  was  wavering;  he  swayed  a 
little  on  his  feet.  The  street  was  empty ;  and  if  it 
had  not  been,  what  help  could  Dolly  ask  for  ?  A 
pang  of  great  terror  shot  through  her.  She  took 
her  father's  arm,  to  endeavour  to  hold  him  fast;  a 
task  rather  too  much  for  her  little  hands  and  slight 
frame;  and  feeling  that  in  spite  of  her  he  still 
moved  unsteadily  and  that  she  was  an  insufficient 
help,  Dolly's  anguish  broke  forth  in  a  cry;  natural 
enough  in  its  unreasoningness — 

"  0  father,  don't ! — remember,  I  am  all  alone  !  " 
How  much  was  in  the  tone  of  those  last  words 
Dolly  could  not  know;  they  hardly  reached  Mr. 
Copley's  sense,  though  they  went  through  and 
through  another  hearer.  The  next  minute  Eupert 
stood  before  the  pair,  and  was  offering  his  arm  to 
Mr.  Copley.  Not  trusting  his  patron,  in  the  cir- 
cumstances, to  take  care  of  his  young  mistress, 


THE  WINE  SHOP.  413 

Rupert  had  disobeyed  her  orders  so  far  as  to  -keep 
the  two  figures  in  sight;  he  had  watched  them 
from  one  turning  to  another,  and  had  seen  that  his 
help  was  needed,  even  before  he  heard  Dolly's  cry. 
Then,  with  a  spring,  he  was  there.  Mr.  Copley 
leaned  now  upon  his  arm,  and  Dolly  fell  behind, 
thankful  unspeakably  for  the  relief.  She  knew  by 
this  time  that  she  could  never  have  found  her  way ; 
and  it  was  plain  her  father  could  not. 

"  Rupert,"  said  Mr.  Copley,  half  recognizing  the 
assistance  afforded  him  —  "you're  a  good  fellow! 
and  always  in  the  way  when  you  aren't  wanted; 
by  George ! "  But  he  leaned  on  his  arm  heavily. 

Dolly  followed  close;  she  could  not  well  keep 
beside  them ;  and  felt  in  that  hour  more  thorough- 
ly lonely  perhaps  than  at  any  other  of  her  life  be- 
fore or  after.  Rupert  was  a  relief;  and  yet  so  the 
shame  was  increased.  She  stepped  along  through 
moonlight  and  shadow,  through  moonlight  and 
shadow,  feeling  that  light  was  gone  out  of  her  path- 
way of  life  forever,  as  far  as  this  world  was  con- 
cerned. What  was  left,  when  her  father  was  lost 
to  her  ? — her  father ! — and  riot  by  death,  that  would 
not  have  been  to  lose  him  utterly;  but  now  his 
very  identity  was  gone.  Her  father,  wliorn  all 
her  life  she  had  loved;  manly,  frank,  able,  active, 
taking  the  lead  in  every  society  where  she  had 
seen  him,  making  other  men  do  his  bidding  al- 
ways, until  the  passion  of  gaining  and  the  lust 
of  drink  got  hold  of  him !  Was  it  the  same,  that 
figure  in  front  of  her,  leaning  on  somebody's  arm 


414  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

and  glad  to  lean,  and  going  with  lame  unsteady 
gait  whither  he  was  led,  so  like  the  way  his  mental 
course  had  been  lately  ?  Was  that  her  father  ?  The 
bitterness  of  Dolly's  feeling  it  is  impossible  to  put 
into  words.  Tears  could  bring  no  relief,  and  na- 
ture did  not  summon  them  to  the  impossible  ser- 
vice. The  fire  at  her  heart  would  have  burnt  them 
up;  for  there  was  a  strange  passion  of  resistance 
and  sense  of  wrong  mixed  with  Dolly's  bitter  pain. 
The  way  was  not  short,  and  it  seemed  threefold  the 
length  it  was;  every  step  was  so  hard,  and  the  crowd 
of  thoughts  was  so  disproportionately  great. 

They  were  rather  ruminating  thoughts  of  grief 
and  pain,  than  considerative  of  what  was  to  be 
done.  For  the  first,  the  thing  was  to  get  Mr.  Cop- 
ley home.  Dolly  did  not  look  beyond  that.  She 
was  glad  to  find  herself  arrived  at  St.  Mark's  again ; 
and  presently  they  were  all  three  in  the  gondola. 
Mr.  Copley  leaned  in  a  corner,  laid  his  head  against 
a  cushion,  and  slept,  or  seemed  to  sleep.  The  other 
two  were  as  silent;  but  I  think  both  felt  at  the 
moment  as  if  they  would  never  sleep  again.  Eu- 
pert's  face  was  in  shadow ;  he  watched  Dolly's  face 
which  was  in  light.  She  forgot  it  could  be  watched ; 
her  eyes  stared  into  the  moonshine,  not  seeing  it,  or 
looking  through  it ;  the  sweet  face  was  so  very  grave 
that  the  watcher  felt  his  heart  ache.  Not  the  gen- 
tle gravity  of  young  maidenhood,  looking  into  the 
vague  light;  but  the  anxious,  searching  gaze  of 
older  life  looking  into  the  vague  darkness.  Ru- 
pert did  not  dare  speak  to  her,  though  he  longed. 


THE  WINE  SHOP.  415 

What  would  he  not  have  given  for  the  right  and 
the  power  to  comfort !  But  he  knew  he  had  nei- 
ther. He  had  sense  enough  not  to  try. 

It  was  customary  for  Mr.  Copley,  after  he  had 
been  late  out  at  night,  to  keep  to  his  room  until  a 
late  hour  the  next  morning;  so  Dolly  knew  what 
she  had  to  expect.  It  suited  her  very  well  this  time, 
for  she  must  think  what  she  would  say  to  her  father 
when  she  next  saw  him.  She  took  care  that  a  cup 
of  coffee  such  as  he  liked  was  sent  him;  and  then, 
after  her  own  slight  breakfast,  sat  down  to  plan 
her  movements.  So  Rupert  found  her,  with  her 
Bible  in  her  lap,  but  not  reading;  sitting  gazing 
out  upon  the  bright  waters  of  the  lagoon.  He 
came  up  to  her,  with  a  depth  of  understanding  and 
sympathy  in  his  plain  features  which  greatly  dig- 
nified them. 

"  Does  that  help  ?  "  said  he,  glancing  at  the  book 
in  Dolly's  lap. 

"  This?"  said  Dolly.  "What  other  help  in  the 
world  is  there  ?  " 

"  Friends  ? — "  suggested  Rupert. 

"  Yes,  you  were  a  great  help  last  night,"  Dolly 
said  slowly.  "  But  there  come  times — and  things 
— when  friends  cannot  do  anything." 

"  And  then — what  does  the  book  do  ?  " 

"  The  book  ?  "  Dolly  repeated  again.  "  0  Rupert, 
it  tells  of  the  Friend  that  can  do  everything ! " 
Her  eyes  flushed  with  tears  and  she  clasped  her 
hands  as  she  spoke. 

"What?"  said  Rupert;  for  her  action  was  elp- 


416  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

quent  and  he  was  curious;  and  besides  he  liked  to 
make  her  talk. 

Dolly  looked  at  him  and  saw  that  the  question 
was  serious.  She  opened  her  book. 

"  Listen.  '  Let  your  conversation  be  without 
covetousness ;  and  be  content  with  such  things  as 
ye  have ;  for  he  hath  said,  I  will  never  leave  thee 
nor  forsake  thee.  So  that  we  may  boldly  say,  The 
Lord  is  my  helper,  and  I  will  not  fear  what  man 
shall  do  unto  me.' " 

"  That  makes  pretty  close  work  of  it.  Can  you 
get  hold  of  that  rope  ?  and  how  much  strain  will 
it  bear  ?  " 

"I  believe  it  will  bear  anything,"  said  Dolly 
slowly  and  thoughtfully;  "if  one  takes  hold  with 
both  hands.  I  guess  the  trouble  with  me  is,  that  I 
only  take  hold  with  one." 

"  What  do  you  do  with  the  other  hand  ?  " 

"  Stretch  it  out  towards  something  else,  I  sup- 
pose. For  see  here,  Rupert; — 'Thou  wilt  keep 
him  in  perfect  peace,  whose  mind  is  stayed  on 
thee ;  because  he  trusteth  in  thee.' — I  am  just 
ashamed  of  myself!"  said  Dolly  breaking  down 
and  bursting  into  tears. 

"  What  for  ?"  said  Rupert. 

"Because  I  do  not  trust  so." 

"  I  should  think  it  would  be  very  difficult." 

"  It  ought  not  to  be  difficult  to  trust  a  friend 
whose  truth  you  know.  There  !  that  has  done  me 
good,"  said  the  girl,  sitting  up  and  brushing  away 
the  tears.  "  Rupert,  if  there  is  anything  you  want 


THE  WINE  SHOP.  417 

to  see  or  to  do  here  in  Venice,  be  about  it ;  for  I 
think  we  shall  go  off  to  Eome  at  once." 

She  told  the  same  thing  to  St.  Leger  when  he 
came  in;  and  having  got  rid  of  both  the  young 
men  set  herself  anew  to  consider  how  she  should 
speak  to  her  father.  And  consideration  helped 
nothing;  she  could  not  tell;  she  had  to  leave  it  to 
the  moment  to  decide. 

It  was  late  in  the  morning,  later  than  the  usual 
hour  for  the  dejeuner  a  la  fourchette,  which  Mr. 
Copley  liked.  He  did  not  want  anything  to-day, 
his  wife  said;  and  she  and  Dolly  and  Rupert  had 
finished  their  meal.  Dolly  contrived  then  that  her 
mother  should  go  out  under  Eupert's  convoy,  to 
visit  the  curiosity  shop  again,  (nothing  else  would 
have  tempted  her)  and  to  make  one  or  two  little 
purchases  for  which  Dolly  gave  Rupert  the  means. 
When  they  were  fairly  off,  she  went  to  her  father's 
room;  he  was  up  and  dressed,  she  knew.  She 
went  with  a  very  faint  heart,  not  knowing  in  the 
least  what  she  would  do  or  say,  but  feeling  that 
something  must  be  said  and  done,  both. 

Mr.  Copley  was  sitting  listlessly  in  a  chair  by 
the  window;  miserable  enough,  Dolly  could  see 
by  the  gloomy  blank  of  his  face;  looking  out,  and 
caring  for  nothing  that  he  saw.  His  features 
shewed  traces  of  the  evening  before,  in  red  eyes 
and  pale  cheeks;  and  yet  worse,  in  the  spiritless, 
abased  expression,  which  was  more  than  Dolly 
could  bear.  She  had  come  in  very  quietly,  but 
when  she  saw  this  she  made  one  spring  to  his  side 
27 


418  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

and  sank  down  on  the  floor  before  him,  hiding  her 
face  on  his  knee.  Mr.  Copley's  trembling  hand 
presently  lifted  her  up  into  his  arms,  and  Dolly  sat 
on  his  knee  and  buried  her  face  in  his  breast. 
Neither  of  them  was  ready  to  speak;  neither  did 
speak  for  some  time.  It  was  Mr.  Copley  who 
began. 

"  Well,  Dolly, — I  suppose  you  will  say  to  me 
that  I  have  broken  my  word  ?  " 

"  0  father !  " — it  came  in  a  sort  of  despair  from 
Dolly's  heart, — "  what  shall  we  do  ?  " 

Mr.  Copley  had  certainly  no  answer  ready  to  this 
question ;  and  his  next  words  were  a  departure. 

"  How  came  you  to  be  at  that  place  last  night  ?  " 

"  I  was  afraid  you  were  there — ' 

"  How  did  you  dare  come  poking  about  through 
all  those  crooked  ways,  and  at  what  time  of  night  ?  " 

"  Father,"  Dolly  said  without  lifting  her  head, 
"that  was  nothing.  I  dared  nothing,  compared 
with  what  you  dared  !  " 

"I? —  You  are  mistaken,  child.  I  did  not  run 
the  slightest  risk.  In  fact  I  was  only  doing  what 
everybody  else  does.  You  make  much  of  nothing, 
in  your  inexperience." 

"  Father,"  said  Dolly,  with  a  great  effort,  "  you 
promised  me.  And  when  a  man  cannot  keep  his 
promise — '' 

She  had  meant  to  be  perfectly  quiet;  she  had 
begun  very  calmly;  but  at  that  word,  suddenly, 
her  calmness  failed  her.  It  was  too  much;  and 
with  a  sort  of  wailing  cry,  which  in  its  forlorn- 


THE  WINE  SHOP.  419 

ness  reached  and  wrung  even  Mr.  Copley's  nerves, 
she  broke  into  a  terrible  passion  of  weeping.  Ter- 
rible !  young  hearts  ought  never  to  know  such  an 
agony;  and  never,  never  should  such  an  agony 
be  known  for  the  shame  or  even  the  weakness  of 
a  father.  The  hand  appointed  to  shield,  the  love 
which  ought  to  shelter, — when  the  blow  comes 
from  that  quarter,  it  finds  the  heart  bare  and  de- 
fenceless indeed,  and  comes  so  much  the  harder  in 
that  it  comes  from  so  near.  No  other,  more  dis- 
tant, can  give  such  a  stroke.  And  to  the  young 
heart,  unaccustomed  to  sorrow,  new  to  life,  not 
knowing  how  many  its  burdens  and  how  heavy; 
not  knowing  on  the  other  hand  the  equalizing, 
tempering  effects  of  time;  the  first  great  pain 
comes  crushing.  The  shoulders  are  not  adjusted 
to  the  burden,  and  they  feel  as  if  they  must  break. 
Dolly's  sobs  were  so  convulsive  and  racking  that 
her  father  was  startled,  and  shocked.  What  had 
he  done?  Alas,  the  man  never  knows  what  he 
has  done;  he  cannot  understand  how  women  die, 
before  their  time,  that  death  of  the  heart  which 
is  out  of  the  range  of  masculine  nature. 

"  Dolly  ! — Dolly ! — "  Mr.  Copley  cried,  "  what  is 
the  matter?  Don't,  Dolly,  if  you  love  me.  My 
child,  what  have  I  done  ?  Don't  you  know,  every- 
body takes  a  little  wine  ?  Are  you  wiser  than  all 
the  world  ?  " 

"You  promised,  father! — "  Dolly  managed  to 
say. 

"  Perhaps  I  promised  too  much.     You  see,  Dolly, 


420  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

— dont  cry  so ! — a  man  must  do  as  the  rest  of  the 
world  do.  It  isn't  possible  to  live  a  separate  life, 
as  you  would  have  me.  It  would  make  me  ridic- 
ulous. It  would  not  do.  There's  no  harm  in  a 
little  wine,  child." 

"  Father,  you  promised !  "  Dolly  repeated,  cling- 
ing to  him.  She  was  not  shrinking  away;  her 
arms  of  love  were  wrapped  round  his  neck  as 
tenderly  as  even  in  old  childish  days;  they  had 
power  over  Mr.  Copley,  power  which  he  could  not 
quite  resist  nor  break  away  from.  He  returned 
their  pressure,  he  even  kissed  her,  feeling,  I  am 
happy  to  say,  a  little  ashamed  of  himself. 

"  You  don't  want  me  to  be  ridiculous,  Dolly  ?  " 
he  repeated,  not  knowing  what  to  say. 

What  should  she  answer  to  that  ?  No,  she  did 
not  want  him  to  be  ridiculous;  and  as  he  spoke 
she  recalled  the  staggering,  impotent  figure  of 
last  night,  in  its  unmanly  feebleness  and  senseless 
idiocy.  A  sense  of  the  difficulty  of  her  task  and 
the  vanity  of  her  representations  came  over  Dolly ; 
it  gave  her  new  food  for  tears,  but  the  present 
effect  was  to  make  her  stop  them.  I  suppose  de- 
spair does  not  weep.  Dolly  was  not  despairing, 
either. 

"What  shall  we  do,  father?"  she  asked,  ignor- 
ing all  his  remarks  and  suggestions. 

"  Do,  Dolly  ?    About  what  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  think  we  will  not  stay  any  longer  in 
Venice  ?  " 

"  For  all  I  care !     Where  then  ?  " 


THE  WINE  SHOP.  421 

"  To  Rome,  father  ?  " 

'.'  I  thought  you  were  to  be  in  Rome  at  Christ- 
mas ?  " 

"  It  is  not  so  very  long  till  Christmas." 

"Is  your  mother  agreed ? " 

"  She  will  be,  if  you  say  so." 

"  If  it  pleases  you,  Dolly — I  don't  care." 

"  And  father,  dear  father !  won't  you  keep  your 
promise  to  me?  What  is  to  become  of  us,  father?" 

Some  bitter  tears  flowed  again  as  she  said  this ; 
quietly,  but  Mr.  Copley  knew  they  were  flowing 
and  he  had  an  intuitive  sense  that  they  were 
bitter.  They  embarrassed  him. 

"I'll  make  a  bargain,  Dolly,"  he  said  after  a 
pause.  "  I'll  do  what  you  want  of  me, — anything 
you  want, — if  you'll  marry  St.  Leger." 

"But,  father,  I  have  not  made  up  my  mind  to 
like  him  enough  for  that." 

"You  will  like  him  well  enough.  If  you  were 
to  marry  him  you  would  be  devoted  to  him.  I 
know  you." 

"  I  think  the  devotion  ought  to  come  first." 

"  Nonsense.  That  is  romantic  folly.  Novels  are 
one  thing,  and  real  life  is  another." 

"  I  dare  say ;  but  do  you  object  to  people's  being 
a  little  romantic  ?  " 

"  When  it  interferes  with  their  bread  and  butter, 
I  do." 

"  Father,  if  you  would  drink  no  wine,  we  could 
all  of  us  have  as  much  bread  and  butter  as  we 
choose." 


422  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  You  are  always  harping  on  that ! "  said  Mr. 
Copley  frowning. 

"  Because,  our  whole  life  depends  on  it,  father. 
You  cannot  bear  wine  as  some  people  can,  I  sup- 
pose; the  habit  is  growing  on  you;  mother  and  I 
are  losing  you,  we  do  not  even  have  but  half  a 
sight  of  you ;  and — father, — we  are  wanting  neces- 
saries. But  I  do  not  think  of  thai,"  Dolly  went  on 
eagerly;  "I  do  not  care;  I  am  willing  to  live  on 
dry  bread,  and  work  for  the  means  to  get  it;  but 
I  cannot  bear  to  lose  you,  father!  I  cannot  bear 
it! — and  it  will  kill  mother.  She  does  not  know; 
I  have  kept  her  from  knowing;  she  knows  nothing 
about  what  happened  last  night.  0  father,  do  not 
let  her  know!  Would  anything  pay  you  for  break- 
ing her  heart  and  mine?  Is  wine  more  to  you 
than  we  are  ?  0  father,  father !  let  us  go  home,  to 
America,  and  quit  all  these  people  and  associations 
that  make  it  so  hard  for  you  to  be  yourself.  I  want 
you  to  be  your  dear  old  self,  father!  Your  dear 
self,  that  I  love — " 

Dolly's  voice  was  choked,  and  she  sobbed.  Mr. 
Copley  was  not  quite  insensible.  He  was  silent  a 
good  while,  hearing  her  sobs,  and  then  he  groaned ; 
a  groan  partly  of  real  feeling,  partly,  I  am  afraid, 
of  desire  to  have  the  scene  ended ;  the  embarrass- 
ment and  the  difficulty  disposed  of  and  behind  him. 
But  he  thought  it  had  been  an  expression  of  deeper 
feeling  solely. 

"I'll  do  anything  you  like,  my  dear  child,"  he 
said.  "  Only  stop  crying.  You  break  my  heart." 


THE  WINE  SHOP.  423 

Father,  will  you  really  do  something  if  I  ask 


you 


Anything !     Only  stop  crying  so." 

"Then,  father,  write  and  sign  it,  that  you  will 
not  ever  touch  wine.  Rupert  and  I  have  taken 
such  a  pledge  already." 

"What  is  the  use  of  writing  and  signing?  I 
don't  see.  A  man  can  let  it  alone  without  that." 

"  He  can,  if  he  wants  to  let  it  alone ;  but  if  he  is 
very  much  tempted,  then  the  pledge  is  a  help." 

"  What  did  you  and  Rupert  do  such  a  thing  as 
that  for?" 

"  I  wanted  to  save  him." 

"  Make  him  take  the  pledge  then.     Why  you  ?  " 

"How  could  I  ask  him  to  do  what  I  would  not 
do  myself?  But  I've  done  it,  father;  now  will  you 
join  us  ?  " 

"  Pshaw !  "  said  Mr.  Copley,  displeased.  "  Now 
you  have  incapacitated  yourself  from  appearing 
as  others  do  in  society.  How  would  you  refuse,  if 
you  were  asked  to  drink  wine  with  somebody  at 
a  dinner-table?" 

"Very  easily.  I  should  think  all  women  would 
refuse,"  said  Dolly.  "Father,  will  you  join  us?  and 
let  us  all  be  unfashionable  and  happy  together  ?  " 

"  Did  St.  Leger  pledge  himself?  " 

"  I  have  not  asked  him." 

"Well,  I  will  if  he  will." 

"  For  him,  father  ?  and  not  for  me  ?"  said  Dolly. 

"Ask  him,"  said  Mr.  Copley.  "I'll  do  as  he 
does." 


424  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  Father,  you  might  set  an  example  to  him." 
"  I'll  let  him  set  the  example  for  me,"  said  Mr. 
Copley  rising.     And  Dolly  could  get  no  further. 

But  it  was  settled  that  they  were  to  leave  Ven- 
ice. What  was  to  be  gained  by  this  step  Dolly 
did  not  quite  know;  yet  it  was  a  step,  that  was 
something.  It  was  something,  too,  to  get  out  of 
the  neighbourhood  of  that  wine  shop,  of  which  Dol- 
ly thought  with  horror.  What  might  await  them 
in  Rome  she  did  not  know ;  at  least  the  bonds  of 
habit  in  connection  with  a  particular  locality  would 
be  broken.  And  Venice  was  grown  odious  to  her. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

PAST   GREATNESS. 

THEY  went  to  Rome. 
Dolly  had  little  comfort  from  her  conversa- 
tion with  her  father.  She  turned  over  in  her  mind 
his  offer  to  quit  wine  if  St.  Leger  would  do  the 
same.  St.  Leger  would  not  give  any  such  pledge, 
Dolly  was  very  clearly  aware;  except  indeed  she 
paid  him  for  it  with  another  pledge  on  her  part. 
With  such  a  bribe  she  believed  he  would  do  it,  or 
anything  else  that  might  be  asked  of  him.  Smooth 
and  quiet  as  the  young  gentleman  was  outwardly, 
he  had  a  power  of  self-will;  as  was  shewn  by  his 
persistence  in  following  her.  Dolly  was  obliged 
to  confess  that  his  passion  was  true  and  strong. 
If  she  would  have  him,  no  doubt,  at  least  she  be- 
lieved there  was  no  doubt,  Lawrence  would  agree 
to  be  unfashionable  and  drink  no  more  wine  to  the 
day  of  his  death  for  her  sake.  If  he  agreed  to 
that,  her  father  would  agree  to  it;  both  of  them 
would  be  saved  from  that  danger.  Dolly  pon- 
dered. Ought  she  to  pay  the  price  ?  Should  she 
sacrifice  herself,  and  be  the  wife  of  a  rich  banker, 


426  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

and  therewith  keep  her  father  and  all  of  them  from 
ruin  ?  Very  soberly  Dolly  turned  the  whole  thing 
over  in  her  mind;  back  and  forward;  and  always 
she  was  certain  on  one  point, — that  she  did  not 
want  to  be  Lawrence's  wife;  and  to  her  simple, 
childlike  perceptions  another  thing  also  seemed 
clear;  that  it  is  a  bad  way  to  escape  one  wrong 
by  doing  another.  She  always  brought  up  with 
that.  And  so,  she  could  not  venture  and  did  not 
venture  to  attack  Lawrence  on  the  wine  question. 
She  knew  it  would  be  in  vain. 

Meanwhile  they  were  in  Rome.  Two  of  the  gen- 
tlemen being  skilled  travellers,-  they  had  presently 
secured  a  very  tolerable  apartment;  not  in  the  best 
situation  indeed,  but  so  neither  was  it  of  the  most 
expensive  sort;  and  clubbing  their  resources,  were 
arranged  comfortably  enough  to  feel  quite  at  home. 
And  immediately  Dolly  began  to  use  her  advantage 
and  see  Rome.  Mrs.  Copley  had  no  curiosity  to 
see  anything;  all  her  wish  was  to  sit  at  her  win- 
dow or  by  her  fire  and  talk  to  her  husband;  and 
as  Mr.  Copley  shared  her  lack  of  enterprize  and 
something  withheld  him  from  seeking  either  gam- 
bling or  drinking  shops,  Dolly  could  go  out  with 
an  easy  mind,  and  give  herself  undividedly  to  the 
intense  enjoyment  of  the  place  and  the  time.  Yes, 
undividedly;  for  she  was  eighteen,  and  at  eigh- 
teen one  has  a  power  of,  for  a  time,  throwing  off 
trouble.  Trouble  was  on  her,  she  knew ;  and 
nevertheless,  when  Dolly  found  herself  in  the 
streets  of  Rome,  or  in  presence  of  its  wonders 


PAST  GREATNESS.  427 

of  art  or  marvels  of  antiquity,  she  and  trouble 
parted  company.  She  forgot  all  but  the  present; 
or  even  if  she  did  not  forget,  she  disregarded. 
Her  spirit  took  a  momentary  leap  above  all  that 
ordinarily  held  it  down,  and  revelled,  and  rejoiced, 
and  expanded,  and  rose  into  a  region  of  pure  ex- 
quisite life.  Rupert,  who  always  accompanied  her, 
was  rather  opening  the  eyes  of  his  mind  and  open- 
ing them  very  wide  indeed,  and  as  is  the  case' with 
eyes  newly  opened,  not  seeing  very  clearly;  yet 
taking  great  pleasure  in  what  he  did  see.  St. 
Leger,  her  other  companion,  had  a  certain  delight 
in  seeing  Dolly's  enjoyment;  for  himself,  alas,  it 
was  too  plain  that  art  said  little  to  him,  and  an- 
tiquity nothing. 

One  afternoon,  when  they  had  been  perhaps  a 
week  in  Rome,  Dolly  declared  her  intention  of 
taking  Rupert  to  the  Museo  Capitolino. 

"  You  were  there  the  day  before  yesterday,"  St. 
Leger  remarked,  rousing  himself  from  a  comfort- 
able position  and  a  magazine. 

"Yes,  thank  you;  and  now  I  am  going  to  do  for 
Mr.  Babbage  what  you  did  for  me;  introduce  him 
to  a  scene  of  delights.  You  know,  one  should  al- 
ways pass  on  a  good  thing  that  one  has  received." 

"  Don't  you  want  me  ?  " 

"  No  indeed !  I  wouldn't  bore  you  to  that  ex- 
tent." 

"  But  you  will  allow  me,  for  my  own  pleasure — " 
said  Lawrence  getting  up. 

"No,  I  will  not.     You  have  done  your  part,  as 


428  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

far  as  that  museum  is  concerned;  and  besides,  I 
have  heard  that  a  lady  must  not  dance  too  many 
dances  with  one  gentleman.  It  is  Mr.  Babbage's 
turn." 

And  with  a  merry  little  nod  of  her  head  and 
smile  at  the  irresolute  St.  Leger,  Dolly  went  off. 
Eupert  was  generally  of  the  party  when  they  went 
sight-seeing,  but  it  had  happened  that  it  was  not 
the  case  when  the  visit  to  the  Capitoline  Museum 
had  been  made. 

"  You  are  not  going  to  this  place  for  my  sake  ?  " 
Rupert  said  as  Dolly  hurried  along. 

"  For  your  sake,  and  for  my  sake,"  she  answered. 
"  1  was  there  for  about  two  minutes,  and  I  should 
like  two  days.  0  Rome,  Rome !  I  never  saw  any- 
thing like  Rome." 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Rupert.  "  It  hasn't  got  hold  of 
me  so." 

"  Wait,  and  it  will.  I  seem  to  be  touching  the 
history  of  the  world  here,  till  I  don't  know  where- 
abouts in  the  ages  I  am.  Is  this  the  nineteenth 
century  ? —  Here  we  are." 

Half  an  hour  later,  the  two  found  themselves  in 
the  Hall  of  the  Emperors. 

"  Do  you  know  Roman  history,  Rupert  ?  " 

"  A  little.  Not  much.  Not  far  down,  you  see. 
I  know  about  Romulus  and  Remus." 

"  Then  you  know  more  than  anybody  else  knows. 
That's  a  myth.  Look  here.  Let  us  begin  at  the 
beginning.  Do  you  know  this  personage  ?  " 

"  Julius  Caesar  ?     Yes.     I  have  read  about  him." 


PAST  GREATNESS.  429 

"Did  you  ever  read  Plutarch's  Lives?  They 
used  to  be  my  delight  when  I  was  a  little  girl. 
I  was  very  fond  of  Julius  Csesar  then.  I  know 
better  now.  But  I  am  glad  to  see  him." 

"  Why,  wasn't  he  a  great  man  ?  " 

"Very.  So  the  world  says.  I  have  come  to 
perceive,  Rupert,  that  that  don't  mean  much." 

"Why  not?  I  thought  the  world  was  apt  to 
be  right." 

"In  some  things.  No  doubt  this  man  might 
have  been  a  very  great  man;  he  had  power;  but 
what  good  did  he  do  to  the  world  ?  He  just 
worked  for  himself.  I  tell  you  what  the  Bible 
says,  Rupert;  'the  things  which  are  highly  es- 
teemed among  men,  are  abomination  in  the  sight 
of  God.'  Look,  and  you  will  see  it  is  so." 

"  If  you  go  by  that —  Who  is  this  next  man  ? 
Augustus.  He  was  the  first  Roman  emperor, 
wasn't  he  ?  " 

"And  all  around  here  are  ranged  his  succes- 
sors. What  a  set  they  were !  and  they  look 
like  it." 

"  How  do  you  know  they  are  likenesses  ?  " 

"  Know  from  coins.  Do  you  know,  almost  all 
these  men,  the  emperors,  died  a  violent  death  '<* 
Murdered,  or  else  they  killed  themselves.  That 
speaks,  don't  it,  for  the  beauty  and  beneficence  of 
their  reigns,  and  the  loveliness  of  their  characters  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  them  very  well.  Some  of  them 
were  good  men,  weren't  they  ?  " 

"See  here,  Nos.  11  and  12.     Here  are  Caligula 


430  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

and  Claudius.  Caligula  was  murdered.  Then  Clau- 
dius was  poisoned  by  his  wife  Agrippina;  there  she 
is,  No.  14.  She  was  killed  by  her  son  Nero;  and 
Nero  killed  himself;  and  No.  13,  there  is  another 
Avife  of  Claudius  whom  he  killed  before  he  mar- 
ried Agrippina;  and  here,  No.  17,  was  a  wife  of 
Nero  whom  he  killed  by  a  kick.  And  that  is  the 
way,  my  dear  Rupert,  they  went  on.  Don't  you 
wish  you  had  belonged  to  the  Imperial  family? 
There's  greatness  for  you  !  " 

"  But  there  were  some  really  great  ones,  weren't 
there  ?  Which  are  they  ?  " 

"Well,  let  us  see.  Come  on.  Here  is  Trajan. 
He  was  not  a  brute;  he  was  a  philosopher  and  a 
sceptic.  He  was  quite  a  distinguished  man  in  the 
arts  of  war  and  peace.  But,  he  ordered  that  the 
profession  of  Christianity  should  be  punished  with 
death.  He  legalized  all  succeeding  persecutions, 
by  his  calm  enactments.  Do  you  think  he  was  a 
great  man  in  the  sight  of  God  ?  " 

"  Were  the  Christians  persecuted  in  his  reign  ?  " 

"Certainly.  In  Asia  Minor,  under  the  good  gov- 
ernor Pliny.  Simon  the  son  of  Cleophas  was  cru- 
cified at  that  time." 

"  Perhaps  Trajan  did  not  know  any  better." 
,  "  He  might  have  known  better,  though.  Ignor- 
ance is  no  plea  that  will  stand,  when  people  have 
the  means  of  knowledge.  But  come  on.  Here  is 
Marcus  Aurelius;  here,  Eupert,  Nos.  37  and  38.  He 
was  what  the  world  calls  a  very  great  man.  He 
was  cultivated,  and  wise,  and  strong,  a  great  gov- 


PAST  GREATNESS.  431 

ernor,  and  for  a  heathen  a  good  man ;  and  how  he 
treated  the  Christians!  East  and  west,  and  at 
Rome  here  itself,  how  they  were  sought  out  and 
tortured  and  killed !  What  do  you  think  the  Lord 
thinks  of  such  a  great  man  as  that?  Remember, 
the  Bible  says  of  his  people,  '  He  that  toucheth 
you,  toucheth  the  apple  of  his  eye.'  What  do  you 
think  the  Lord  thought  of  Marcus  Aurelius'  great- 
ness? Look  here,  Rupert — here  is  Decius,  and 
here  is  Diocletian." 

"  Were  they  persecutors  too  ?  " 

"Great.  It  is  so  strange  to  look  at  their  faces 
here,  in  this  museum,  after  so  many  centuries.  I 
suppose  they  will  stand  here,  maybe,  till  the  end 
of  the  world.  Come  away — we  have  been  so  long 
in  this  gallery  we  have  -not  left  time  enough  for  the 
other  rooms." 

They  went  to  the  Hall  of  the  Gladiator;  and 
there  Dolly  studied  the  figure  which  gives  name 
to  the  place,  with  a  kind  of  rapt  intensity.  She 
described  to  her  companion  the  meaning  of  the 
marble;  but  it  was  not  the  same  thing  to  them 
both.  Dolly  was  lost  in  delighted  contemplation. 
•  Rupert  looked  on  with  a  kind  of  incredulous  scorn. 

"You  don't  care  for  it?"  she  said  suddenly, 
catching  a  sight  of  his  face. 

"  What's  it  good  for  ?  "  said  Rupert.  "This  ain't 
a  likeness  of  anybody,,  is  it  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  likeness  of  a  great  many  people.  Hun- 
dreds and  hundreds  died  in  such  fashion  as  that, 
for  the  pleasure  of  the  Roman  people." 


432  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"Well,  would  it  have  been  any  satisfaction  to 
you  to  see  it  ?  " 

"  Why  no !  I  hope  not." 

"  Then  why  do  you  like  to  see  it  here  now  ?  " 

"  I  don't !  this  is  not  reality,  but  an  image." 

"  I  can't  see  why  you  should  like  to  look  at  the 
image,  when  you  couldn't  bear  the  reality." 

"Why  Rupert," — Dolly  began,  but  her  further 
words  were  cut  oft'. 

"  Met  again  !  "  said  a  soft  voice.  "  You  here  ! 
we  did  not  know  you  would  be  in  Rome  so  soon." 

"  Dolly ! "  exclaimed  Christina,  who  followed 
her  mother.  "That's  delightful.  Dolly  Copley 
in  Rome !  and  in  the  Museo  Capitolino.  Who  is 
with  you  ?  " 

"We  are  all  here,"  said  Dolly  smiling. 

"Yes,  yes,  in  Rome,  of  course;  but  you  are  not 
in  the  museum  alone  ?  " 

Dolly  presented  Mr.  Babbage. 

"  And  how  is  your  mother  ?  "  Mrs.  Thayer  went 
on.  "Better.  I  am  so  glad.  I  thought  she  would 
be  better  in  Italy.  And  what  have  you  done  with 
your  handsome  cavalier o  servente — Mr.  St.  Leger  ?  " 

"  I  left  him  at  home  with  a  magazine,  in  which  . 
I  think  there  was  a  story,"  said  Dolly. 

"  Impossible !  his  gallantry  allowed  you  to  come 
alone?" 

"  Not  his  gallantry,  but  perhaps  his  sense '  of 
weakness,"  Dolly  answered. 

"Of  weakness,  my  dear?  Is  he  a  weak  young 
man  ?  He  does  not  look  it." 


PAST  GREATNESS.  433, 

"Very  good  muscular  power,  I  dare  say;  but 
when  we  talk  of  power  of  will,  you  know  '  weak- 
ness' is  relative.  I  forbade  him,  and  he  did  not 
dare  to  come." 

"  You  forbade  him !  and  he  obeyed !  But  Chris- 
tina, I  do  not  think  you  have  Mr.  Shubrick  in  such 
training  as  that.  Would  he  obey,  if  you  gave  him 
orders  ?  " 

"  Probably  the  relations  are  different,"  said  Dolly 
obliging  herself  to  keep  a  grave  face.  "  I  am  in  a 
happy  independence  of  Mr.  St.  Leger  which  allows 
me  to  command  him." 

"  Independence !  "  said  Mrs.  Thayer,  with  an  air 
half  curious,  half  confounded,  which  was  a  severe 
trial  to  Dolly's  risible  muscles.  "  I  know  young 
ladies  are  very  independent  in  these  days — I  don't 
know  whether  it  is  a  change  for  the  better  or  not 
— but  I  do  not  think  Christina  would  boast  of  her 
independence  qf  her  knight  errant." 

"  No,"  said  Dolly.  "  The  cases  are  different — as 
I  said.  Mr.  St.  Leger  does  not  stand  in  that  par- 
ticular relation  to  me." 

"  Doesn't  he !  But  my  dear,  I  hope  you  haven't 
quarrelled  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Dolly.  "  We  do  not  like  each 
other  well  enough  to  quarrel." 

"  But  he  struck  me  as  a  most*  delightful  young 
man." 

"  I  believe  he  generally  makes  that  impression." 

"  I  used  to  know  his  father,"  said  Mrs.  Thayer. 
"  He  was  a  sad  flirt.  I  know,  you  see,  my  dear, 
28 


434  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

because  I  was  one  myself.  I  am  glad  Christina 
does  not  take  after  me.  But  I  used  to  think  it 
was  great  fun.  Is  Mr.  St.  Leger  anything  of  a 
flirt?" 

"  I  have  had  no  opportunity  of  knowing,  ma'am," 
said  Dolly  gravely. 

"  Well,  you  will  bring  him  to  see  us  ?  You  are 
all  coming  to  make  us  a  visit  at  our  villa,  at  Sorren- 
to; and  Mr.  Shubrick  is  coming;  Christina  wants 
to  shew  him  to  you;  you  know  a  girl  is  always 
proud  of  her  conquests;  and  then  we  will  go 
everywhere  and  make  you  see  everything.  You 
have  just  no  notion  how  delightful  it  is  at  Sorrento 
in  the  spring  and  summer.  It's  Paradise  !  " 

"But  you  are  coming  first  to  spend  Christmas 
with  me,  Dolly,"  said  her  friend,  who  until  now 
had  hardly  been  able  to  get  in  a  word.  "  I  have 
five  thousand  things  to  talk  to  you  about.  My 
sailor  friend  has  promised  to  be  here  too,  if  he 
can;  and  his  ship  is  in  the  Mediterranean  some- 
where, so  I  guess  he  can;  and  I  want  you  to  see 
him.  Come  and  spend  Christmas  eve  with  me — 
do !  and  then  we  shall  have  a  chance  to  talk  be- 
fore he  comes.  Of  course  there  would  be  no  chance 
after,"  she  added  with  a  confident  smile. 

Dolly  was  not  much  in  a  mood  for  visiting,  and 
scantly  inclined  to  mix  in  the  joyous  circle  which 
must  be  breathing  so  different  an  atmosphere  from 
her  own.  She  doubted  besides  whether  she  could 
leave  her  watch  and  ward  for  so  long  a  time  as  a 
night  and  a  day.  Yet  it  was  pleasant  to  see  Chris- 


PAST  GREATNESS.  435 

tina,  and  the  opportunity  to  talk  over  old  times  was 
tempting;  and  her  friend's  instances  were  very  ur- 
gent. Dolly  at  last  gave  a  conditional  assent;  and 
they  parted;  Dolly  and  Kupert  taking  the  way 
home. 

"  Is  that  lady  a  friend  of  yours  ? "  Rupert  en- 
quired. 

"The  daughter;  not  the  mother." 

"The  old  lady  I  meant.  She  has  a  mind  to  know 
all  about  us." 

"Why?" 

"  She  asked  me  about  five  hundred  and  fifty  ques- 
tions, after  she  quitted  you." 

"  What  did  you  tell  her  ?  " 

"  I  told  her  what  she  knew  before,"  said  Kupert 
chuckling.  "  Her  stock  of  knowledge  hasn't  grown 
very  much,  I  guess,  by  all  she  got  out  of  me.  But 
she  tried." 

Dolly  was  silent.  After  a  short  pause,  Rupert 
spoke  again  in  quite  another  tone. 

"  Miss  Dolly,  you've  put  me  in  a  sort  of  a  puzzle. 
You  said  a  little  while  ago,  or  you  spoke  as  if  you 
thought,  that  all  those  grand  old  Roman  emperors 
were  not  after  all  great  men.  Then,  if  ihey  were  not 
great,  what's  a  fellow  to  try  for  ?  If  a  common  fel- 
low does  his  best,  he  will  not  get  to  the  hundredth 
or  the  thousandth  part  of  what  those  men  did.  Yet 
you  say  they  were  not  great.  What's  the  use  of 
my  trying,  for  instance^  to  do  anything,  or  be  any- 
thing ?  " 

"  What  did  they  do,  Rupert  ?  " 


436  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  Well,  you  seem  to  say,  nothing !  But  don't  you 
come  to  Rome  to  admire  what  they  did  ?  " 

"Some  of  the  things  they  did,  or  made.  But 
stand  still  here,  Rupert,  and  look.  Do  you  see 
the  Rome  of  the  Caesars?  You  see  an  arch  here 
and  a  theatre  there ;  but  the  city  of  those  days  is 
buried.  It  is  under  our  feet.  The  great  works  of 
art  here,  those  that  were  done  in  their  day,  were 
not  done  by  them.  Do  you  think  it  is  any  good  to 
one  of  those  old  emperors  in  the  other  world, — take 
the  best  of  them — is  it  any  good  to  him  now  that 
he  had  some  of  these  splendid  buildings  erected  ? 
or  marbles  carved  ?  Or  that  his  armies  conquered 
the  world,  and  his  government  held  order  where- 
ever  his  arms  went  ?  If  he  is  happy  in  the  pres- 
ence of  God,  is  it  anything  to  him,  now,  that  we 
look  back  and  admire  his  work  ? — and  if  he  is  un- 
happy, banished  that  Presence,  is  it  anything  to 
him  then  ?  " 

"Well,  what  is  greatness  then?"  said  Rupert. 
"  What  is  worth  a  man's  trying  for ;  if  these  great- 
est things  are  worth  nothing  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  think  anything  is  really  great  or  worth 
while,"  said  Dolly,  "  except  those  things  that  God 
likes." 

"  You  come  back  to  religion,"  said  Rupert.  "  I 
did  not  mean  religion.  What  are  those  things  ?  " 

"I  do  not  think  anything  is  worth  trying  for, 
Rupert,  except  the  things  that  will  last." 

"  What  things  will  last  ? "  said  he  half  impa- 
tiently. 


PAST  GREATNESS.  437 

"  Look  here,"  said  Dolly.  "  Step  a  little  this  way. 
Do  you  see  the  Colosseum  over  yonder  ?  Who  do 
you  think  will  remember,  and  do  remember,  that 
with  most  pleasure ;  Vespasian  and  Titus  who  built 
it,  or  the  Christians  who  gave  themselves  to  the 
lions  there  for  Christ's  sake  ?  " 

"Yes — "  said  Rupert, — "of  course;  but  that  isn't 
the  thing.  There  are  no  lions  here  now." 

"There  are  lions  of  another  sort,"  said  Dolly, 
standing  still  and  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the 
wonderful  old  pile  in  the  distance.  "  There  is  al- 
ways work  to  be  done  for  God,  Rupert,  and  dan- 
gers or  difficulties  to  be  faced;  and  to  the  people 
who  face  any  lions  for  his  sake,  there  is  a  promise 
of  praise  and  honour  and  blessing  that  will  last 
forever." 

"  Then  you  would  make  all  a  man's  work  to  be 
work  for  God  ?  "  said  Rupert,  not  satisfied  with  this 
view  of  the  question.  "  What  is  to  become  of  all 
the  rest  of  the  things  that  are  to  be  done  in  the 
world  ?  " 

"  There  ought  not  to  be  anything  else  done  in  the 
world,"  said  Dolly,  laughing  as  she  turned  and  be- 
gan to  walk  on  again.  "  It  ought  all  to  be  done 
for  him.  Merchants  ought  to  make  money  for  his 
service ;  and  lawyers  ought  to  strive  to  bring  God's 
order  between  man  and  man,  and  justice  to  every 
one,  and  that  never  wrong  should  be  done  or  op- 
pression exercised  by  anybody.  '  Break  every  yoke, 
and  let  the  oppressed  go  free.'  And  soldiers  ought 
to  fight  for  no  other  reason  but  to  protect  weaker 


438  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

people  from  violence  and  wrong.  And  so  on  of 
everything  else.  And  Eupert,  God  has  promised  a 
city,  of  his  own  preparing,  for  his  people ;  it  will  be 
a  place  of  delights;  and  I  am  thinking  of  that  word, 
— 'Blessed  are  they  that  do  his  commandments; 
that  they  may  have  a  right  to  the  tree  of  life,  and 
may  enter  in  through  the  gates  into  the  city. 
I  don't  believe  anybody  that  is  left  outside  will 
think  much  of  what  we  call  greatness  in  that  day." 

"  Why  the  world  wouldn't  be  the  world,  at  that 
rate,"  cried  Eupert. 

"Think  it  wouldn't  be  altered  for  the  better? " 

"  But  a  few  people  can't  make  it  like  that." 

"Suppose  they  make  only  a  very  little  piece  of  it 
like  that  ? —  But  then  comes  the  end,  Eupert,  and 
the  King's  '  Well  done  ! '  " 

"  Then  you  wouldn't  have  a  man  make  as  much 
as  he  can  of  himself — "  said  Eupert  after  a  dissatis- 
fied pause. 

"Certainly  I  would." 

"What  use?" 

"  0,  to  be  a  better  servant  to  his  Master,  the  best 
he  possibly  can ;  and  to  do  more  work  for  him ;  the 
most  he  can  do." 

"  It  seems  to  me,  Miss  Dolly,  if  you  are  right, 
pretty  much  all  the  rest  of  the  world  are  wrong." 

"Yes,  Eupert;  don't  you  remember  the  Bible 
says  that  the  wrong  way  is  the  broad  way,  where 
almost  all  the  people  go  ?  " 

Eupert's  meditations  this  time  held  him  till  they 
got  home. 


PAST  GREATNESS.  439 

The  days  that  intervened  before  Christmas  were 
filled  full  with  delightful  business.  Dolly  had  her 
anxieties,  it  is  true ;  but  she  was  in  Eome.  What 
could  stand  against  the  witchery  of  the  enchantress 
city?  Anxieties  fell  into  the  background;  and 
with  all  the  healthy,  elastic  spring  of  her  young 
years  Dolly  gave  herself  to  the  Present  and  the 
Past,  and  rejoiced,  hour  by  hour  and  step  by  step, 
in  what  the  Present  and  the  Past  opened  up  to 
her.  True,  her  father  and  mother  hardly  shared 
in  her  pleasure;  Mr.  Copley's  taste  was  blunted, 
I  fear,  for  all  noble  enjoyment;  and  Mrs.  Copley 
cared  mainly  to  be  comfortable  in  her  home  quar- 
ters, and  to  go  out  now  and  then  where  the  motley 
world  of  fashion  and  of  sight-seeing  did  most  con- 
gregate. Especially  she  liked  to  go  to  the  Pin- 
cian  Hill  Sunday  afternoon  and  watch  the  inde- 
scribable concourse  of  people  of  all  nationalities 
which  is  there  to  be  seen  at  that  time.  But  there 
Dolly  would  not  go. 

"  It  is  very  absurd  of  you,  Dolly !  "  cried  her 
mother,  greatly  disappointed;  for  she  had  a  pride 
in  seeing  the  universal  attention  which  was  drawn 
to  Dolly  in  every  public  place; — "what  harm 
should  there  be  in  looking  at  the  beautiful  view 
and  hearing  music  ?  we  are  not  going  to  do  any- 
thing." 

"  It's  the  Lord's  day,  mother,"  said  Dolly,  look- 
ing up  at  her  sorrowfully. 

"  You  went  to  church  this  morning  all  right," 
her  mother  said.  "There  is  no  church  for  you  to 


440  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

go  to  at  this  time  of  day,  that  I  know  of;  and  if 
there  were,  I  should  think  it  very  ridiculous  to  go 
again.  If  you  want  to  think,  'you  could  think 
about  good  things,  I  should  hope,  on  the  Pincian. 
What  is  there  to  hinder  you  ?  " 

"  Only  everything  I  should  see  and  hear,  mother." 

"  Hinder  you  from  thinking  about  good  things  !  " 

"  Hinder  me  from  thinking  about  anything,"  said 
Dolly,  laughing  a  little. 

"  Seriously,  Miss  Dolly,"  said  Lawrence,  who 
stood  by,  hat  in  hand,  ready  to  go;  the  Pincian 
Hill  Sunday  evening  was  something  he  quite  ap- 
proved of; — "seriously,  do  you  think  there  is  any- 
thing wrong  in  sitting  up  there  for  an  hour  or  two 
and  seeing  the  beautiful  sunset  colours,  and  hear- 
ing the  miisic  ?  " 

"  She's  a  little  Puritan,"  said  her  father;  "  and  the 
Puritans  were  always  an  obstinate  set,  Lawrence; 
always,  and  in  every  nation  and  people.  I  won- 
der why  the  two  things  should  go  together." 

"  What  two  things,  father  ?  " 

"What  you  call  Puritanism,  and  Obstinacy." 

"  I  suppose,  because  those  you  call  Puritans  love 
the  truth,"  said  Dolly;  "  and  so  hold  to  it." 

"And  do  you  not  think  other  people,  who  are 
not  Puritans,  also  love  the  truth,  Miss  Dolly  ? " 
Lawrence  asked. 

"  I  don't  think  anybody  loves  the  truth  he  dis- 
obeys," Dolly  said  with  a  gentle  shake  of  her 
head. 

"  There ! "  said  her  mother.     "  There's  Dolly  all 


PAST  GREATNESS.  441 

over.  She  is  right,  and  nobody  else  is  right.  I 
wonder  what  she  supposes  is  to  become  of  all  the 
rest  of  the  world !  Every  body  in  Rome  will  be 
on  the  Pincian  to-night,  except  Dolly  Copley. 
And  every  other  mother  but  me  will  have  her 
daughter  with  her." 

In  answer  to  which  Dolly  kissed  her,  pulled  the 
strings  of  her  bonnet  into  a  prettier  bow,  and 
looked  at  her  with  sweet  shining  eyes  which  said 
as  plainly  as  possible,  without  words  that  Mrs.  Cop- 
ley knew  better.  The  party  went  off,  neverthe- 
less; and  Lawrence  lingering  till  the  others  had 
turned  their  backs,  held  out  his  hand  to  Dolly. 

"  Will  you  tell  me,"  said  he,  "  as  a  favour,  what 
you  think  is  the  harm  of  what  we  are  doing  ?  " 

"  You  are  just  robbing  the  King  of  heaven  and 
earth,"  Dolly  answered  gravely. 

"Robbing!     Of  what?" 

"  Of  time  which  he  says  is  his,  and  of  honour 
which  he  says  ought  to  be  his." 

"How?" 

" '  The  seventh  day  is  the  Sabbath  of  the  Lord 
thy  God.' " 

"This  is  not  the  seventh;  it  is  the  first." 

"  Quibbling,  Mr.  St.  Leger.  It  is  not  the  seventh 
from  Monday,  but  it  is  the  seventh  from  Sunday; 
it  is  the  one  day  set  apart  from  the  seven." 

"  And  what  ought  we  to  do  with  it  ?  Sabbath 
means  rest,  does  it  not?  What  are  we  going  to 
do  but  rest,  up  there  on  the  Pincian?  only  rest 
most  delightfully.  You  will  not  rest  so  here." 


442  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"I  suppose  your  bodies  will  rest,"  said  Dolly. 
"  Your  minds  will  have  most  uncommon  powers 
of  abstraction  if  they  do." 

"  But  you  are  putting  yourself  out  of  the  world, 
Dolly." 

"I  mean  it,"  said  she  with  a  little  nod  at  him. 
"  The  Lord's  people  are  not  of  the  world,  Mr.  St. 
Leger;  and  the  world  does  not  like  their  ways. 
Never  did." 

"  I  wonder  if  all  Puritans  are  as  quaint  as  you," 
said  he,  kissing  the  hand  he  held.  But  then  he 
went  off  to  the  Pincian. 

And  there,  surely,  was  a  most  wonderful,  rich 
and  varied  scene;  a  concourse  of  people  of  all 
characters  and  nationalities — except  the  small 
party  in  the  world  which  Dolly  represented;  a 
kaleidoscope  view  of  figures  and  costumes,  classes 
and  callings,  most  picturesque,  most  diversified, 
most  changeful.  There  were  the  Thayers,  amongst 
others ;  and  as  they  joined  company  with  the  Cop- 
ley party,  of  course  Mrs.  Copley's  pleasure  was 
greatly  increased;  for  in  a  crowd  it  is  always 
pleasant  to  know  somebody.  Mr.  Copley  knew 
several  people.  Mrs.  Thayer  had  leisure  to  tell 
and  ask  whatever  she  had  a  mind  with  Mrs.  Cop- 
ley, and  to  improve  her  acquaintance  with  Mr.  St. 
Leger;  who  on  his  part  managed  to  get  some 
conversation  with  the  beautiful  Christina.  It  was 
a  distinction  to  be  talking  to  such  a  beauty,  and 
he  felt  it  so;  and  Christina  on  her  part  was  not 
insensible  to  the  fact  that  the  young  man  was 


PAST  GREATNESS.  443 

himself  very  handsome,  and  unexceptionably  well 
dressed,  and  the  heir  to  many  thousands;  therefore 
a  person  of  importance.  The  time  on  the  Pincian 
Hill  that  evening  was  very  pleasantly  spent;  and 
so  Mrs.  Copley  told  her  daughter  on  their  return. 

"  Mrs.  Thayer  said  she  was  very  sorry  not  to  see 
you,"  Mrs.  Copley  added. 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  her." 

"  You  are  not  obliged  to  her  at  all,  for  she  didn't 
mean  it.  That's  what  you  get  by  staying  behind." 

"What?"  said  Dolly  dimpling  up. 

"That  woman  had  it  all  her  own  way;  talked  to 
Mr.  St.  Leger,  and  let  him  talk  to  her  daughter. 
You  see,  Dolly,  Christina  is  very  handsome  when 
you  are  not  by." 

"  Mother,  she  is  at  any  time.  She's  beautiful. 
You  must  not  set  me  up  in  comparison  with  her." 

"  Well,  she's  engaged,"  said  Mrs.  Copley.  "  I 
wish  you  were.  You  let  everything  hang  by  the 
eyelids,  Dolly;  and  some  fine  morning  what  you 
look  for  won't  be  there." 


CHAPTER   XXV 

CHRISTMAS   EVE. 

pHRISTMAS  eve  came,  and  Rupert  attended  Dol- 
w  ly  to  the  Piazza  di  Spagna  where  her  friends 
had  apartments  in  a  great  hotel.  Dolly  was  quite 
prepared  to  enjoy  herself;  the  varied  delights  of  the 
foregoing  days  had  lifted  her  out  of  the  quiet,  pa- 
tient mood  of  watchful  endurance  which  of  late 
had  been  chronic  with  her,  and  her  spirits  were 
in  a  flow  and  stir  more  fitted  to  her  eighteen 
years.  She  was  going  through  the  streets  of 
Rome !  the  forms  of  the  ages  rose  before  her  mind's 
eye  continually,  and  before  her  bodily  eye  appeared 
here  and  there  tokens  and  remains  which  were 
like  the  crumblings  of  those  ages;  tangible  proofs 
that  once  they  had  been,  and  that  Rome  was  still 
Rome.  Dolly  drew  breaths  of  pleasure  as  she  and 
Rupert  walked  along. 

"  You  are  going  to  stay  all  night  ?  "  said  Rupert. 

"Yes,  they  want  me." 

"  And  they  have  asked  nobody  but  you  ?  "  said 
Rupert,  who  was  not  conventional. 

"  They  wanted  nobody  but  me.  It  is  not  a  par- 
ty; it,  is  my  old  school-friend  only,  who  wants  to 
shew  me  her  future  husband." 


CHRISTMAS  EVE.  445 

Rupert  grunted  his  intelligence,  and  at  the  same 
time  his  mystification.  "What  for?"  he  asked. 
And  Dolly  laughed. 

"  I  don't  know !  It  is  natural,  1  suppose,  to 
some  people.  Here  we  are.  Good  night/' 

The  Thayers  were  very  well  lodged  indeed. 
Dolly  found  herself  in  really  charming  rooms,  well 
furnished  and  well  lighted.  She  was  joyfully  re- 
ceived, and  Christina  led  her  forthwith  through 
saloon  and  dining  room  to  the  sanctuary  of  her 
own  chamber.  A  certain  feeling  of  contrast  be- 
gan to  fall  upon  Dolly  already,  Christina  looked  so 
very  fresh  and  fair  and  well  kept;  the  lightest 
veil  of  anxiety  had  never  shadowed  her  bloom ;  the 
most  remote  cloud  of  embarrassment  or  need  had 
never  risen  on  her  horizon.  Careless,  happy,  se- 
cure, her  mind  knew  no  burden.  It  made  Dolly 
feel  the  pressure  of  her  own ;  and  yet  she  was  glad, 
for  a  little,  to  get  into  this  atmosphere  of  peace 
and  confidence,  and  enjoy  it  even  by  the  contrast. 
Christina's  room  looked  like  a  curiosity  shop.  It 
was  littered  with  recent  purchases;  all  sorts  of 
pretty  things,  useful  and  useless. 

"  One  cannot  help  buying,"  she  said,  excusing 
herself.  ,"\  see  something  at  every  step  that  I 
want;  and  I  must  get  it  when  I  see  it,  or  I  may 
never  see  it  again,  you  know.  It  is  great  fun,  but 
sometimes  I  almost  get  tired.  Here,  dear,  I  can 
lay  your  things  here.  Isn't  my  fire  nice?  Now 
sit  down  and  warm  yourself.  It's  too  delightful 
to  have  you !  It  is  like  a  bit  of  home,  and  a 


446  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

bit  of  old  times.  Those  old  school  days  were 
pleasant  ?  " 

"  Very  pleasant !  "  said  Dolly,  sitting  down  and 
looking  into  the  queer  but  bright  fire  of  small 
sticks  which  burned  in  Christina's  chimney.  "  Very 
pleasant !  I  was  with  my  dear  Aunt  Hal,  in  Phil- 
adelphia." 

"  But  these  days  are  better,  Dolly,"  Miss  Thayer 
went  on.  "That  wasn't  much  compared  to  this." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Dolly.  "There  was  no 
care  in  those  times." 

"  Care  ? "  exclaimed  Christina,  as  if  she  did  not 
know  the  meaning  of  the  word.  "  What  care 
have  you,  Dolly  ?  I  have  none,  except  the  care  to 
make  my  money  buy  all  I  want — which  it  won't, 
so  I  may  as  well  make  up  my  mind  to  it,  and  I  do. 
What  have  you  been  getting  in  Eome  ?  " 

"0  more  pleasure  than  I  knew  so  many  days 
could  hold,"  said  Dolly,  laying  some  of  the  sticks 
of  the  fire  straight. 

"  Isn't  it  wonderful  ?  I  think  there's  nothing 
like  Eome.  Unless  perhaps,  Paris." 

"  Paris !  "  said  Dolly.     "  What's  at  Paris  ?  " 

"  Ah,  you  don't  know  it,  or  you  wouldn't  ask ! 
Everything,  my  dear.  Eome  has  a  good  deal,  cer- 
tainly, but  Paris  has  everything.  Now  tell  me, — 
are  you  engaged?" 

"1?    No.     Of  course  not." 

"  I  don't  see  why  it's  of  course.  Most  people  are 
at  one  time  or  another ;  and  I  didn't  know  but  your 
time  had  come." 


CHRISTMAS  EVE.  447 

"No,"  said  Dolly.  "Neither  the  time  nor  the 
man.  I've  come  to  hear  about  yours." 

"If  he's  good,  you'll  see  him;  the  man,  I  mean. 
He  promised  to  be  with  us  at  Christmas,  if  he  could; 
and  he  always  keeps  his  promises." 

"  That's  a  good  thing,"  said  Dolly. . 

"Ye-s,"  said  Christina,  "that  is  of  course  a  good 
thing.  One  likes  to  have  promises  kept.  But  it 
is  possible  to  have  too  much  of  a  good  thing." 

"  Not  of  keeping  promises ! "  said  Dolly  in  un- 
feigned astonishment. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Christina.  "  Sandie  is  so 
fixed  in  everything;  he  holds  to  his  opinions  and 
his  promises  and  his  expectations;  and  he  holds  a 
trifle  too  fast." 

"  He  has  a  right  to  hold  to  his  expectations, 
surely,"  said  Dolly  laughing. 

"  Not  too  much,"  said  Christina.  "  He  has  no 
right  to  expect  everybody  to  keep  their  promises 
as  precisely  as  he  does  his!  People  aren't  made 
alike." 

"No;  but  honour  is  honour." 

"  Come  now,  Dolly,"  said  Christina  laughing  in 
her  turn,  "  you  are  another !  You  are  just  a  little 
bit  precise,  like  my  Sandie.  You  cannot  make  all 
the  world  alike,  if  you  try ;  and  he  can't." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  try,  and  I  think  it  would  be 
a  very  stupid  world  if  I  could  do  it;  but  nobody 
ought  to  raise  expectations  he  is  not  prepared  to 
gratify." 

"  Like  a  sentence  out  of  a  book ! "  cried  Christina. 


448  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  But  Sandie  is  the  most  unchangeable  person ;  he 
will  not  take  any  views  of  anything  but  the  views 
he  has  always  taken ;  he  is  as  fixed  as  the  rock  of 
Gibraltar,  and  almost  as  distinct  and  detached  from 
the  rest  of  the  world." 

"  And  don't  you  like  that  ?  " 

"No;  confess  I  do  not.  I'd  like  him  to  come 
down  a  little  from  his  high  place  and  mix  with 
the  rest  of  us  mortals." 

"  What  expectations  does  he  indulge  which  you 
are  not  willing  to  meet  ?  " 

"  That's  the  very  thing !  "  cried  Christina,  in  her 
turn  stooping  to  arrange  the  little  sticks  and  pile 
more  on;  "he  is  unreasonable." 

"  How  ?  " 

"  Wants  me  to  marry  him." 

"  Is  that  unreasonable  ?  " 

"  Yes !  till  things  are  ready  for  such  a  step,  and 
I  am  ready." 

"  What  things  ?  " 

"  Dolly,  he  is  only  the  first  officer  of  his  ship. 
He  was  distinguished  in  the  last  war,  and  he  has 
the  prospect  of  promotion.  I  don't  want  to  marry 
him  till  he  is  a  captain." 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Dolly. 

"  Why  ? —  Don't  you  understand  ?  He  would 
have  a  better  position  then,  and  better  pay;  and 
could  give  me  a  better  time  generally;  and  mam- 
ma thinks  we  ought  to  wait.  And  I  like  waiting. 
It's  better  fun,  I  do  think,  to  be  engaged  than  to 
be  married  t  I  know  I  shouldn't  have  my  head 


CHRISTMAS  EVE.  449 

near  so  much  if  I  was  married  to  Sandie.  I  do 
just  as  I  like  now;  for  mamma  and  I  are  always 
of  a  mind." 

"  And  are  not  you  and  Mr.  Shubrick  of  a  mind  ?  " 

"Not  about  this,"  said  Christina,  getting  up  from 
the  hearth,  'and  laughing. 

"  Pray,  if  one  may  ask,  how  long  have  you  and 
he  been  waiting  already  ?  " 

"0,  he  thinks  it  is  a  great  while;  but  what  is 
the  harm  of  waiting  ?  " 

"  Well,  how  long  is  it,  Christina  ?  " 

"  Dolly,  we  were  engaged  very  young.  It  was 
before  I  left  school ;  one  summer  when  I  was  home 
for  the  vacation.  I  was  sixteen ;  that  is  four  years 
ago,  and  more." 

"  Four  years  !  "  cried  Dolly. 

"Yes.  Of  course  we  were  too  young  then  to 
think  of  marrying.  He  was  home  on  furlough, 
and  I  was  home  for  the  vacation ;  and  our  houses 
were  near  together;  and  so  we  made  it  up.  His 
people  were  not  very  well  off,  but  mine  were;  so 
there  was  nothing  in  the  way,  and  nobody  objected 
much;  only  mother  said  we  must  wait." 

"  What  are  you  waiting  for  now,  Christina  ?  " 

"I  told  you.  I  am  in  no  hurry,  for  my  part. 
I  want  Sandie  to  get  his  ship;  and  in  the  mean 
while  it  is  just  as  nice  to  be  as  we  are.  We 
see  each  other  when  we  can ;  and  Italy  is  Italy ; 
and  I  am  very  contented.  Unfortunately,  Sandie 
isn't." 

"  How  long  do  you  propose  to  go  on  waiting  ?  " 
29 


450  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  I  don't  know.  O  I  don't  know !  and  I  don't 
care.  What  is  the  harm  of  waiting  ?  " 

"That  depends  on  what  you  promise  yourselves  in 
being  married." 

"  Dolly,':  said  Christina  thoughtfully,  "  I  don't 
promise  myself  anything  much  better  than  I  have 
got  now.  If  Sandie  would  only  be  content,  I 
could  go  on  so  forever." 

"  And  not  be  married  ?  " 

"Besides,  Dolly,  I  don't  want  to  keep  house  in  a 
small  way.  I  do  not !  and  if  I  married  a  lieuten- 
ant in  the  navy,  I  couldn't  do  anything  else.  You 
see,  Sandie  would  not  live  upon  papa's  money; 
though  papa  would  do  anything  for  me ;  but  Sandie 
won't;  and  on  his  means  we  should  live  on  a  very 
small  scale  indeed." 

"  But  you  would  have  enough  ?  " 

"  Enough  for  what  ?  We  should  have  enough 
to  eat.  But  Dolly,  I  do  not  like  to  have  to  think 
of  economy.  I  have  never  been  used  to  it.  Look 
at  my  room;  see  the  things  I  have  got  together 
these  last  few  days.  Look  here — this  is  a  ring  I 
want  you  to  wear  for  me.  Isn't  it  delicious  ?  It 
is  as  old  as  the  best  time  of  cameo-cutting,  they 
say,  but  I  do  not  remember  when  that  was;  it's 
rather  large  for  a  lady's  ring,  but  it  is  an  undoubt- 
ed beauty.  Jupiter's  eagle,  with  the  thunderbolts. 
Just  look  at  the  plumage  of  the  bird, — and  its 
fierce  eye.!' 

Dolly  was  greatly  delighted.  Of  all  the  pretty 
things  she  had  seen  during  the  weeks  past,  she 


CHRISTMAS  EVE.  451 

had  bought  nothing,  save  one  or  two  bits  for  her 
mother.  This  gift  was  vastly  more  to  Dolly  than 
Christina  could  imagine.  She  had  so  literally 
everything  she  wanted,  that  no  further  acquisition 
could  give  her  great  pleasure.  It  lacked  the  en- 
hancement of  difficulty  and  rarity.  I  suppose  the 
ring  was  more  to  Dolly  than  her  whole  room-ful 
beside  to  Christina.  It  was  in  truth  a  very  exqui- 
site cameo.  Dolly  put  it  on  her  finger,  and  looked 
at  it  in  different  lights,  and  admired  it  and  enjoyed 
it  hugely ;  while  at  the  same  time  it  gave  an  odd 
grace  of  setting-off  to  her  simple  dress.  Dolly  was 
in  a  plain  black  silk,  with  no  adornment  at  all,  un- 
til she  put  the  ring  on.  Unless  her  quaint  old 
cable  chain  could  be  called  such.  That  Dolly  al- 
ways wore.  She  was  a  sweet  quaint  figure,  illu- 
minated by  the  firelight,  as  Christina  observed  her; 
girlish  and  graceful,  with  a  fair  face  and  beautiful 
hair;  the  sober  dress  and  the  true,  womanly  eyes 
making  a  certain  hidden  harmony,  and  the  cameo 
setting  a  seal  of  daintiness  and  rareness  to  the 
whole.  Christina  was  seized  with  admiration,  that 
had  a  good  deal  of  respect  blended  with  it  of  a 
sudden. 

'.'  You  don't  agree  with  me,  Dolly,"  she  said  after 
a  little,  when  Dolly's  thanks  and  the  beauty  of  the 
ring  had  been  sufficiently  discussed,  and  a  pause 
had  brought  the  thoughts  of  both  back  to  the 
former  subject. 

"  What  do  you  want,  Christina  ?  " 

"  I  just   want   to   be  happy   and   comfortable," 


452  THE   END  OF  A  COIL. 

said  the  girl,  "as  I  always  have  been.  I  don't 
want  to  come  down  to  pinching.  Is  that  un- 
reasonable ?  " 

"You  would  not  have  to  pinch,  Christina." 

"Yes,  I  should;  to  live  like  the  rest  of  the 
world." 

"  Are  you  obliged  to  do  that  ?  " 

"  Live  like  the  rest  of  the  world  ?  Yes,  or  be  out 
of  the  world." 

"  I  thought  you  were  a  Christian — "  said  Dolly 
softly. 

"A  Christian!  Yes,  so  I  am.  What  has  that 
got  to  do  with  it?" 

"  A  good  deal,  I  should  say.  Tiny,  you  cannot 
follow  Christ  and  be  like  the  world." 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  like  the  world,  in  bad 
things;  but  I  mean  things  that  are  not  bad.  One 
must  be  like  the  world  in  some  ways,  if  one  can. 
Don't  you  set  up  for  being  any  better  than  me, 
Dolly,  for  I  won't  stand  it;  we  are  all  really  just 
alike." 

"  The  world  and  Christians  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  in  some  things." 

"  Ways  of  living  ?  " 

"Yes, — in  some  ways." 

"  Christina,  did  you  use  to  think  so,  in  old 
times?" 

"  I  was  young  then ;  I  did  not  know  the  world. 
You  have  gat  to  do  as  the  world  do,  in  a  measure, 
Dolly." 

Dolly  was  silent  a  bit.     She  too  on  her  part  ob- 


CHRISTMAS  EVE.  453 

served  her  friend.  Fair  and  handsome  she  was; 
very  handsome;  with  the  placid  luxuriance  of  na- 
ture which  has  never  known  shocks  or  adverse 
weather.  Dolly  felt  the  contrast  which  Christina 
had  also  felt,  but  Dolly  went  deeper  into  it.  She 
and  her  friend  had  drifted  apart,  not  in  regard  for 
each  other,  but  in  life  and  character;  and  Dolly  in- 
voluntarily compared  their  experiences.  Trouble 
to  Christina  was  a  word  of  unknown  meaning;  to 
herself  it  was  become  daily  bread.  Had  that  made 
the  difference?  Christina  was  living  on  the  sur- 
face of  things;  skimming  a  smooth  sea  in  a  gilded 
gondola;  shelter  and  adornment  were  all  about  her 
life,  and  plenty  within.  Dolly  had  been,  as  it 
were,  cast  into  the  waves  and  was  struggling  with 
them ;  now  lifted  on  a  high  crest,  and  now  brought 
down  to  the  bottom.  Was  that  how  she  had 
learned  to  know  that  there  were  wonderful  things 
of  preciousness  and  beauty  at  the  bottom  of  the 
sea?  and  must  one  perhaps  be  tossed  by  the  storm 
to  find  out  the  value  and  the  power  of  the  hand 
that  helps?  It  did  smite  Dolly  with  a  kind  of 
pain,  the  sense  of  Christina's  sheltered  position 
and  security;  the  thought  of" the  father's  arms  that 
were  a  harbour  for  her,  the  guardianship  that 
came  between  her  and  all  the  roughness  of  the 
world.  And  yet,  Dolly  along  with  the  bitterness 
of  this,  was  tasting  also  something  else  which  did 
not  enter  Christina's  cup  of  life ;  a  rarer  sweetness, 
which  she  would  not  have  exchanged  for  Chris- 
tina's whole  draught.  She  had  found  jewels  more 


454  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

precious  at  the  depth  of  the  sea  than  ever  Chris- 
tina could  pick  up  in  her  pleasure  sail  along  shore. 
Christina  with  all  her  luxury,  was  missing  some- 
thing, and  in  danger  of  losing  more.  Dolly  re- 
solved to  speak. 

"  Do  you  know,  Tiny,"  she  said,  "  if  I  were  Mr. 
Shu  brick,  I  should  not  be  satisfied." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  Christina  carelessly. 

"  Why  you  are  preferring  the  world  to  him." 

"  I  am  not !  No  such  thing,  Dolly.  I  love  him 
dearly." 

"  By  your  own  shewing,  you  love — what  shall  I 
say  ? — luxuries  and  position,  more." 

"  I  only  want  to  wait  a  little." 

"And  Christina — I  don't  believe  God  likes  it." 

"Likes  what?" 

"  Your  wanting  to  do  as  the  world  do." 

"  How  do  you  know  I  do  ?  " 

"  You  said  so." 

"  I  like  to  have  a  nice  house,  and  servants 
enough,  and  furniture  to  please  me,  and  means 
to  entertain  my  friends;  and  who  doesn't?  That's 
all  I  ask  for." 

"  And  to  do  what  everybody  else  does." 

" Yes,"  said  Christina  smiling.     "Who  don't?" 

"You  were  on  the  Pincian  Hill  Sunday  after- 
noon." 

"Yes,"  said  Christina  suddenly  looking  up. 
"  Why  not  ?  Why  weren't  you  there  ?  " 

"  If  you  will  read  the  last  two  verses  of  the  fifty- 
eighth  chapter  of  Isaiah,  you  will  know." 


CHRISTMAS  EVE.  455 

"  I  can't  read  in  this  light,"  said  Christina,  look- 
ing round  the  room, — "and  I  don't  know  just 
where  I  have  laid  my  Bible.  Everybody  goes 
to  the  Pincian.  It's  no  harm." 

"  Would  Mr.  Shubrick  go  ?  " 

"Who  told  you  he  wouldn't?"  said  Christina. 
"  I  declare,  if  you  are  going  to  help  him  in  his 
crochets,  I  won't  let  you  see  much  of  him  !  San- 
die  ? — he's  just  an  unmanageable,  unreasonable  bit 
of  downrightness. — And  uprightness,"  she  added 
laughing.  "Dolly,  he  can  have  his  own  way 
aboard  ship;  but  in  the  world  one  can't  get  along 
so.  One  must  conform  a  little.  One  must." 

"  Does  God  like  it  ?  "  said  Dolly. 

"What  queer  questions  you  ask!  This  is  not  a 
matter  of  religion;  it  is  only  living." 

Dolly  remembered  words  which  came  very  in- 
conveniently across  Christina's  principles;  yet  she 
was  afraid  of  saying  too  much.  She  reflected 
that  her  friend  was  breathing  the  soft  air  of  lux- 
ury, which  is  not  strengthening,  and  enveloped  in 
a  kind  of  mist  of  conventionality,  through  which 
she  could  not  see.  With  herself  it  was  different. 
She  had  been  thrown  out  of  all  that;  forced  to  do 
battle  with  necessity  and  difficulty,  and  so  driven 
to  lay  hold  of  the  one  hand  of  strength  and  deliver- 
ance that  she  could  reach.  What  wonder  if  she 
held  it  fast  and  held  it  dear?  while  Christina  seemed 
hardly  to  have  ever  felt  the  need  of  anything. 

"Now,  Dolly,  tell  me  all  about  yourself,"  Chris- 
tina broke  in  upon  her  meditations. 


456  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"There  isn't  much  to  tell." 
"  What  have  you  been  doing  ?  " 
"  Painting  miniatures — one  of  the  last  things." 
"  0  delightful !     Copies  ?  " 

"  Copies  from  life.  May  I  take  you  ?  and  then 
perhaps,  if  I  succeed,  you  will  get  me  work." 

"Work!"  repeated  Christina. 

Dolly  nodded.     "Yes.     I  want  work." 

"  Work !  "  cried  Christina  again.  "  Dolly,  you 
don't  mean  that  you  need  it  ?  Don't  say  that ! " 

"  I  do.  That's  nothing  so  dreadful,  if  only  I  can 
get  it.  I  paint  miniatures  for — I  have  had  ten  and 
I  have  had  twenty  pounds,"  said  Dolly,  with  a 
laugh ;  "  but  twenty  is  magnificent.  I  do  not  ask 
twenty." 

Christina  exclaimed  with  real  sorrow  and  inter- 
est, and  was  eager  to  know  the  cause  of  such  a 
state  of  things.  Dolly  could  but  give  her  the  bare 
facts,  not  the  philosophy  of  them. 

"  You  poor,  dear,  lovely  little  Dolly ! "  cried 
Christina.  "A  thought  strikes  me.  Why  don't 
you  marry  this  handsome,  rich  young  English- 
man ?  " 

Again  Dolly's  face  dimpled  all  over. 

"  The  thought  don't  strike  me,"  she  said. 

"  But  he's  very  rich,  isn't  he  ?  " 

"  Yes.  That  is  nothing  to  me.  I  wouldn't  give 
my  father  and  mother  for  him." 

"  But  for  your  father  and  mother's  sake  ?  " — There 
was  a  knock  at  the  door  here.  "  What  is  it?  din- 
ner? Come,  Dolly;  we'll  reason  afterwards." 


CHRISTMAS  EVE.  457 

The  dinner  was  excellent.  More  than  the  ex- 
cellence, however,  went  to  Dolly's  enjoyment.  The 
rare  luxury  of  eating  without  having  to  think 
what  it  cost,  and  without  careful  management  to 
make  sure  that  enough  was  left  for  the  next  day's 
breakfast  and  lunch.  It  was  great  luxury !  and 
how  Dolly  felt  it,  no  one  there  could  in  the  least 
guess.  With  that,  however,  as  the  evening  went 
on  and  the  unwonted  soft  atmosphere  of  ease  was 
taking  effect  upon  her,  Dolly  again  and  again 
drew  the  contrast  between  herself  and  her  friend. 
How  sheltered  and  guarded,  arid  fenced  in  and 
fenced  off,  Christina  was;  how  securely  and  safely 
blooming  in  the  sacred  enclosure  of  fatherly  and 
motherly  care !  and  Dolly — Alas,  alas !  her  defences 
were  all  down,  and  she  herself,  delicate  and  tender, 
forced  into  the  defender's  place,  to  shield  those  who 
should  have  shielded  her.  It  pressed  on  her  by 
degrees,  as  the  sweet  unaccustomed  feeling  of  eas,e 
and  rest  made  itself  more  and  more  sensible,  and  by 
contrast  she  realized  more  and  more  the  absence 
of  it  in  her  own  life.  It  pressed  very  bitterly. 

The  girls  had  just  withdrawn  again  after  dinner 
to  the  firelight  cosiness  of  Christina's  room,  when 
Mrs.  Thayer  put  her  head  in. 

"  Chi'istina — here's  Baron  Kramer  and  Signor 
Count  Villa  Bella,  come  to  know  if  you  will  go  to 
the  Sistine  Chapel." 

"Mother! — how  you  put  titles  together!  O,  I 
remember;  there  is  music  at  the  Sistine  to-night. 
But  Sandie  might  come  ?  " 


458  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"And  might  not,"  said  Mrs.  Thayer.  "You  will 
have  time  enough  to  see  Sandie ;  and  this  is  Christ- 
mas eve,  you  know.  You  may  not  be  in  Home  next 
Christmas." 

"  Would  you  like  to  go,  Dolly  ?  "  said  Christina 
doubtfully.  Dolly's  heart  jumped  at  the  invitation ; 
music  and  the  Sistine  Chapel !  But  it  did  not  suit 
her  to  make  an  inconvenient  odd  one  in  a  partie 
carree,  among  strangers.  She  declined. 

"  I  said  I  would  go,"  said  Mrs.  Thayer.  "  Since 
the  gentlemen  have  come  to  take  you,  I  think  you 
had  better.  Dolly  will  not  mind  losing  you  for  an 
hour  or  two." 

Which  Dolly  eagerly  confirmed ;  wondering  much 
at  the  same  time  to  see  Christina  hesitate,  when  her 
lover,  as  she  said,  might  come  at  any  minute. 

She  too  finally  resolved  against  it,  however;  and 
when  Mrs.  Thayer  and  the  gentlemen  had  gone 
and  Mr.  Thayer  had  withdrawn,  as  his  custom  was, 
to  his  own  apartment,  the  two  girls  took  possession 
of  the  forsaken  drawing-room.  It  was  a  pretty 
room,  very  well  furnished,  and  like  every  other 
part  of  the  present  home  of  the  Thayers,  running 
over  with  new  possessions  in  the  shape  of  bits  of 
art  or  antiquity,  pictures,  and  trinkets  of  every  kind, 
which  they  were  always  picking  up.  These  were 
an  infinite  amusement  to  Dolly;  and  Christina  was 
goodhumouredly  pleased  with  her  pleasure. 

"  There's  no  fun  in  being  in  Eome,"  she  remarked, 
"  if  you  cannot  buy  all  you  see.  I  would  run  away 
if  my  purse  gave  out." 


CHRISTMAS  EVE.  459 

"  But  there  is  all  that  you  cannot  take  away," 
said  Dolly.  "Think  of  what  your  mother  has  gone 
to  this  evening." 

"The  Sistine  Chapel,"  said  Christina.  "I  don't 
really  care  for  it.  Those  stupid  old  prophets  and 
sybils  say  nothing  to  me;  though  of  course  one 
must  make  a  fuss  about  them;  and  the  picture  of 
the  Last  Judgment,  /think,  is  absolutely  frightful." 

But  here  Dolly's  eyes  arrested  her  friend. 

"Well,  I  tell  you  the  truth;  I  do  think  so,"  she 
said.  "  I  may  tell  the  truth  to  you.  I  do  not  care 
one  pin  for  Michael  Angelo." 

"  Mayn't  you  tell  the  truth  to  anybody  ?  " 

"  Not  unless  I  want  to  be  stared  at;  and  I  do  not 
want  to  be  stared  at,  in  that  way.  I  am  glad  I  did 
not  go  with  mamma  and  those  people;  if  Sandie 
had  come,  I  do  not  think  he  would  have  altogether 
liked  it.  Though  I  don't  know  but  it  is  good  to 
make  men  jealous.  Mamma  says  it  is." 

"0  no!"  said  Dolly.  "Not  anybody  you  care 
for." 

"What  do  you  know?"  said  Christina  archly. 
Before  she  could  receive  an  answer,  then,  she  had 
started  and  sprung  up;  for  the  door  gently  opened 
and  on  the  threshold  presented  himself  a  gentle- 
man in  naval  uniform. 

"  Sandie  !  "  cried  Christina. 

"  Didn't  you  expect  me  ?  "  he  said  with  a  frank 
and  bright  smile. 

Dolly  had  heard  enough  about  this  personage  to 
make  her  very  curious;  and  her  eyes  took  keen 


460  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

note  of  him.  She  saw  a  tall,  upright  figure,  with 
that. free  poise  of  bearing  which  is  a  compound  of 
strength  and  ease;  effortless,  quiet,  graceful  and 
dignified.  Though  in  part  the  result  of  a  certain 
symmetry  of  joints  and  practised  activity  in  the 
use  of  them,  this  sort  of  bearing  refers  itself  also, 
and  yet  more  surely,  to  the  character,  and  makes 
upon  the  beholder  the  impression  again  of  strength 
and  ease  in  the  mental  action.  It  is  not  common ; 
it  struck  Dolly  in  the  first  five  steps  he  made  into 
the  room  and  in  the  manner  of  his  greeting  his  be- 
trothed. Out  of  delicate  consideration,  I  suppose, 
for  the  company  in  which  they  found  themselves, 
he  offered  only  a  look  and  a  hand  clasp;  but  Chris- 
tina jumped  up  and  kissed  him.  She  was  not  short, 
yet  she  had  to  make  a  little  spring  to  reach  his 
lips.  And  then,  quietly  putting  an  arm  round  her, 
he  gave  her  her  kiss  back.  Christina  was  rosy 
when  she  turned  to  present  him,  and  both  were 
smiling.  Letting  her  go,  he  bowed  low  before 
Christina's  friend;  low  and  gravely;  with  such  ab- 
solute gravity  that  Dolly  almost  felt  herself  in  the 
way;  as  if  he  wished  her  not  there.  Then  they  sat 
down  around  the  fire;  and  the  same  feeling  came 
over  her  again  with  a  rush.  They  Avere  three ;  they 
ought  to  have  been  but  two;  she  was  one  too  many; 
they  must  wish  her  away.  And  yet,  Christina  had 
asked  her  precisely  and  specially  that  she  might  be 
one  of  the  company  that  night.  Dolly  would  have 
wished  herself  away  nevertheless;  only  that  she  was 
so  very  much  interested,  and  could  not.  The  new 


CHRISTMAS  EVE.  461 

comer  excited  her  curiosity  greatly  and  provoked 
her  observation ;  and  if  the  truth  must  be  told,  ex- 
ercised also  a  powerful  attraction  upon  her.  He  sat 
before  the  fire,  full  in  her  view,  and  struck  Dolly  as 
different  from  all  the  people  she  had  ever  seen  in 
her  life.  She  took  glances  from  time  to  time,  as 
she  could,  at  the  fine,  frank,  manly  face,  which  had 
an  unusual  combination  of  the  two  qualities,  frank- 
ness and  manliness;  was  much  more  than  usually 
serious,  for  a  man  of  his  age ;  and  yet,  she  saw  now 
and  then,  could  break  to  tenderness  or  pleasure  or 
amusement,  with  a  sweetness  that  was  winning. 
Dolly  was  lascinated,  and  could  not  wish  herself 
awaj;  why  should  she,  if  Christina  did -not? 

In  all  her  life  she  never  forgot  the  images  of 
two  of  the  people  around  the  fire  that  evening. 
"Sandie"  in  the  middle,  in  front  of  the  blaze; 
Christina  on  the  other  hand  of  him.  She  was  in 
a  glistening  robe  of  dark  blue  silk,  her  fair  hair 
knotted  and  wound  gracefully  about  her  head;  a 
beautiful  creature;  looking  at  her  lover  with  com- 
placent looks  of  possession  and  smiles  of  welcome. 
Dolly  never  knew  what  sort  of  a  figure  the  third 
was;  she  could  not  see  herself,  and  she  never 
thought  about  it.  Yet  she  was  a  foil  to  the  other 
two,  and  they  were  a  foil  to  her,  as  she  sat  there 
at  the  corner  of  the  hearth  on  a  low  cushion, 
in  her  black  dress,  and  with  no  ornament  about 
her  other  than  the  cameo  ring.  A  creature  very 
different  from  the  beauty  at  the  other  corner  of 
the  fireplace;  more  delicate,  more  sensitive,  more 


462  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

spiritual;  oddly  and  inexplicably,  more  of  a  child 
and  more  of  a  woman.  That's  a  rare  mixture. 
There  was  something  exceedingly  sweet  and  sim- 
ple in  her  soft  brown  eyes  and  her  lips;  but  the 
eyes  had  looked  at  life,  the  brow  was  grave,  and 
the  lips  could  close  into  lines  of  steady  will.  The 
delicate  vessel  was  the  shrine  of  a  soul,  as  large  as 
it  could  hold,  and  so  had  taken  on  the  transparent 
nobility  which  belongs  to  the  body  when  the  soul 
is  allowed  to  be  dominant.  One  point  of  the  con- 
trast between  the  two  girls  was  in  the  character 
and  arrangement  of  their  hair.  Christina's  was 
smooth,  massed,  and  in  a  sort  massive;  Dolly's 
clustered  or  was  knotted  about  her  head,  without 
the  least  disorder,  but  with  a  wilfulness  of  ele- 
gant play  most  harmonious  with  all  the  rest  of 
her  appearance.  To  characterize  the  two  in  a 
word,  Christina  was  a  beautiful  pearl,  and  Dolly 
was  a  translucent  opal. 

They  sat  down  round  the  fire. 

"Well,  Sandie,  you  naughty  boy,"  Christina 
began,  "  what  has  kept  you  away  all  this  time  ?  " 

"  Duty." 

"Duty!  I  told  you  so,  Dolly;  this  man  has 
only  two  or  three  words  in  his  vocabulary,  which 
he  trots  out  on  all  occasions  to  do  general  service. 
One  of  them  is  'duty';  another  is  'must.'" 

"  '  Must '  is  the  true  child  of  '  duty,' "  the  gentle- 
man remarked. 

"0  no,  I  don't  allow  that;  it  is  a  marriage  con- 
nection, which  may  be  dissolved  by  a  dispensation." 


CHRISTMAS  EVE.  463 

"  Is  that  your  idea  of  the  marriage  connection  ?  " 
said  he  with  a  smile. 

"  But  Sandie !  don't  you  want  something  to  eat?" 

"  No,  thank  you." 

"  Because  you  can  have  it  in  a  moment." 

"I  have  dined,  Christina." 

"Where  have  you  been  all  this  while?  weeks 
and  weeks." 

"  Have  you  not  received  any  letters  from  me  ?  " 

"  Yes  indeed !  but  words  are  so  different  spoken 
and  written.  We  have  been  half  over  Europe.  I 
wish  you  could  have  been  along !  Sandie,  we 
went  to  Baden-Baden." 

"What  for?" 

"  What  for!  Why,  to  see  it.  And  we  saw  the 
gaming." 

"  How  did  you  like  it?  " 

"  It  is  fascinating.  I  never  saw  such  a  scene  in 
my  life;  the  people's  faces;  and  then  the  mad 
eagerness  with  which  they  went  at  it;  old  men 
and  young  men,  and  women.  0  it  was  astonish- 
ing to  see  the  women  !  " 

"  What  was  the  effect  upon  you  ?  " 

"I  don't  know;  astonishment!  " 

"  How  did  Mrs.  Thayer  like  it  ?  " 

"  Do  you  know,  I  think  she  half  wanted  to  try 
her  hand  ?  I  was  so  amazed  at  mother !  I  told 
her  she  must  not." 

"  You  observe,  Miss  Copley,  Miss  Thayer  knows 
the  use  of  one  of  my  words." 

It  was  a  strange,  novel,  absorbing  experience  to 


464  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

Dolly.  Sitting  at  one  corner  of  the  hearth,  quiet, 
and  a  little  as  it  were  a  one  side,  she  watched  the 
play  and  the  people.  She  was  so  delightfully  set 
free  for  the  moment  from  all  her  home  cares  and 
life  anxieties.  It  was  like  getting  out  of  the  cur- 
rent and  rush  of  the  waves  into  a  nook  of  a  bay, 
where  her  tossed  little  skiff  could  lie  still  for  a  bit, 
and  the  dangers  and  difficulties  of  navigation  did 
not  demand  her  attention.  She  rested  luxuriously 
and  amused  herself  with  seeing  and  hearing  what 
went  on.  And  to  tell  the  whole  tmth,  Dolly 
was  more  than  amused;  she  was  interested;  and 
watched  and  listened  keenly.  Christina  was  a 
lovely  figure  in  her  bright  dress  and  bright 
beauty,  a  little  excited,  arid  happy,  not  too  much; 
not  too  much  to  make  Dolly's  presence  desirable 
and  agreeable;  just  enough  to  make  her  more 
lovely  than  usual.  The  other  figure  of  the  little 
party  was  more  interesting  yet  to  Dolly.  She 
thought  he  was  very  peculiar,  and  unlike  any  one 
she  had  ever  seen.  His  repose  of  demeanour  was 
striking;  he  seemed  to  make  no  unnecessary  move- 
ment ;  he  sat  still ;  neither  hand  nor  head  nor  foot 
betrayed  any  restlessness  either  of  mind  or  body; 
and  yet  when  he  did  move,  were  it  only  hand  or 
foot  or  head,  the  impression  he  gave  Dolly  was  of 
readiness  for  the  keenest  action,  if  the  time  for 
action  once  came.  How  the  two  seemingly  con- 
tradictory impressions  were  conveyed  together, 
Dolly  did  not  stop  to  think;  she  had  no  time  to 
moralize  upon  her  observations;  however,  (this 


CHRISTMAS  EVE.  465 

mingling  of  calm  and  vigour  was  very  imposing 
to  her ;  it  attracted  and  fascinated.  No  man  could 
sit  more  quiet  in  company;  and  yet,  if  he  turned 
his  head  or  shifted  the  position  of  his  hand,  what 
Dolly  saw  was  power  and  readiness  to  move  with 
effect  if  there  were  anything  to  be  done ;  and  the 
calm  intensified  the  power  to  her  mind.  And 
then,  apart  from  all  this,  the  room  in  which  <hey 
were  sitting  was  filled  with  pretty  things  and 
charming  things  which  the  Thayers  had  been  col- 
lecting since  they  came  to  Rome.  Dolly's  eye 
strayed  from  one  to  another,  as  she  sat  listening 
to  her  companions ;  though  the  pretty  things  never 
diverted  her  attention  from  what  these  were  saying 
or  what  they  were  doing.  It  was  a  charmed  hour 
altogether !  of  rest  and  relief  and  enjoyment. 
Taken  out  of  herself  and  away  from  her  cares, 
Dolly  tasted  and  delighted  in  the  fairy  minutes 
as  they  flew,  and  did  not  even  trouble  herself  to 
think  how  soon  they  would  be  flown  by  and  gone. 

"You  have  been  a  great  while  away,  Sandie," 
Christina  was  saying.  "  Why  could  you  not  join 
us  before?  You  might  have  skipped  something. 
Here  have  I  stayed  away  from  the  Sistine  to-night, 
for  your  sake." 

"  Is  it  any  special  loss,  this  evening  of  all  others?  " 

"Certainly!  It  is  Christmas;  there  is  music,  and 
company." 

"Do  you  enjoy  the  Sistine  Chapel,  apart  from 
music  and  company  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed  I  don't !  I  don't  like  it  at  all.  Such 
30 


466  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

horrid  things  on  the  walls,  as  are  enough  to  give 
one  the  nightmare  after  being  there.  I  know  it  is 
Michael  Angelo,  and  I  am  horribly  out  of  order  in 
saying  so ;  but  what  is  the  use  of  pretending  in  this 
company  ?  " 

"  What  is  the  use  of  pretending  in  any  com- 
pany?" 

"  0  nonsense,  Sandie  !  a  great  deal.  Everybody 
pretends,  at  some  time  or  other.  What  would  be- 
come of  us  if  we  spoke  out  all  we  had  in  our  minds?" 

"  You  do  not  like  the  Sistine  Chapel.  What  do 
you  enjoy  most  in  Rome  ?  " 

"Most?     The  Pincian,  Sunday  afternoon." 

"  Sunday !     Why  Sunday  ?  " 

"  Music,  and  all  the  world  there.  It's  the  most 
beautiful  scene,  in  the  first  place,  and  the  most 
amusing,  that  you  can  find.  There  is  everybody 
there,  Sandie;  people  from  all  the  quarters  of  the 
earth ;  of  all  nationalities  and  costumes ;  the  oddest 
and  the  prettiest;  everybody  you  know  and  every- 
body you  don't  know." 

"  But  why  on  Sunday  ?  " 

"  0  that's  the  special  day ;  that  and  Thursday  I 
believe;  but  I  generally  have  something  else  to  do 
Thursday;  and  anyhow  there  isn't  as  good  a  show. 
I  rarely  go  Thursday." 

"  And  Sunday  you  have  nothing  else  to  do.  1 
see." 

"  Well,  Sandie,  of  course  we  have  been  to  church 
in  the  morning,  you  know.  There  is  nothing  to  go 
to  in  the  afternoon.  What  should  one  do  ?  " 


CHRISTMAS  EVE.  467 

"  Miss  Copley,  do  you  enjoy  the  Pincian  on  Sun- 
day evenings  ?  " 

"I  have  not  tried  it,"  said  Dolly. 

"Your  mother  and  father  were  there  though,  last 
Sunday,"  said  Christina.  "Sandie,  what  are  you 
thinking  of?  You  have  some  superstitious  objec- 
tion ?  I  dare  say  you  have !  " 

"Not  I,"  said  Mr.  Shubrick.  "But  it  occurs  to 
me  that  there  is  a  command  somewhere,  touching 
the  question." 

"  What  command  ?  In  the  Bible !  Sandie,  do 
you  think  those  Sunday  commands  are  to  be  taken 
just  as  they  stand — to  mean  just  so  ?  and  shut  one 
stupidly  up  in  the  house  for  all  day  Sunday  except 
when  one  is  going  in  procession  to  church  ?  " 

"You  know,"  said  Mr.  Shubrick,  "I  am  like  the 
centurion  in  the  Bible,  'a  man  under  authority,' 
having  other  men  under  me;  'and  I  say  to  this 
man  Go,  and  he  goeth;  and  to  another,  Come  and 
•he  cometh.'  I  know  nothing  about  orders  that 
are  not  to  be  obeyed." 

"And  is  that  the  way  you  would  rule  your 
house  ?  "  said  Christina,  half  pouting. 

"I  should  leave  that  to  you,"  he  answered  smil- 
ing. "It  is  enough  for  me  to  rule  my  ship.  The 
house  would  be  your  care." 

"Would  it?  Does  that  mean  that  you  expect 
always  to  be  a  sailor  ?  " 

"  It  is  my  profession.    A  man  must  do  something." 

"If  he  must.  But  not  if  he  has  no  need  to  do 
anything?  " 


468  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

The  young  officer  looked  at  her  with  a  consider- 
ative  sort  of  gravity  and  inquired  if  she  could  re- 
spect a  lazy  man  ? 

"  No,  and  you  never  would  be  lazy,  or  could  be 
lazy,"  she  said  laughing.  "But  surely  there  are 
things  enough  to  be  done  on  shore." 

"Things  enough.  The  question  for  every  one  is, 
where  he  can  do  most." 

"Why  Sandie,"  Christina  cried,  "it  is  not  pos- 
sible that  you  should  have  your  time  to  your- 
self on  shipboard,  and  as  an  acting  officer,  as 
you  could  at  home  on  shore.  Reading  and 
study,  that,  you  like,  I  know;  and  then  paint- 
ing, and  all  art  pleasures,  that  you  think  so 
much  about,  much  more  than  I  do;  and  a  thou- 
sand other  things; — you  have  110  chance  for 
them  at  sea." 

"You  talk  as  if  one  had  nothing  to  do  but  to 
please  himself." 

"  Well,"  said  Christina.  "  So  far  as  one  can, 
why  not  ?  Does  not  all  the  world  ?  " 

"Yes.  All  the  world.  You  are  right.  All  the 
world,  except  a  little  body  of  men  who  follow 
Christ;  and  lie,  pleased  not  himself.  I  thought  you 
knew  I  was  one  of  his  servants,  Christina." 

"Does  that  forbid  your  pleasing  yourself?  " 

"Not  in  one  way,"  said  Mr.  Shubrick  smiling 
again,  a  smile  that  made  Dolly's  heart  throb  with 
its  meaning.  "  It  is  my  pleasure  to  do  my  Master's 
will.  The  work  he  has  given  me  to  do,  I  would 
rather  do  of  all  things." 


CHRISTMAS  EVE.  469 

"  I  can't  think  what  work  you  mean,  Sandie. 
I  really  do  not  understand." 

"  Do  you  understand,  Miss  Copley  ?  " 

Dolly  started.     "  I  believe  so,"  she  said. 

"Will  you  have  the  goodness  to  explain  to 
Christina  ?  " 

"Why  don't  you  explain  yourself,  Sandie?"  said 
his  betrothed. 

"I  am  talking  too  much.  Besides,  it  will  come 
better  from  Miss  Copley's  lips." 

"  I  don't  think  so ;  but  however — Well,  Dolly,  if 
you  are  to  explain,  please  explain.  But  how  come 
you  to  understand,  when  I  don't  understand? 
What  work  does  he  mean  ?  " 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Dolly,  "  Mr.  Shubrick  means 
work  for  other  people." 

"  Work  for  other  people !  "  cried'  Christina.  "  Do 
you  think  we  do  not  do  work  for  other  people  ? 
Mamma  ^gives  away  loads;  she  does  a  great  deal 
for  the  poor.  She  is  always  doing  it." 

"And  you? — " 

"01  help  now  and  then.  But  she  does  not  want 
my  help  much." 

"  Did  you  think,  Miss  Copley,  I  meant  work  for 
poor  people  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Dolly.  "At  least— that  is— I  thought 
you  meant  the  work  that  is  for  Christ." 

"  Well,  I  am  sure  he  commanded  us  to  take  care 
of  the  poor,"  said  Christina. 

"  He  commanded  us  also  to  carry  the  gospel 
to  every  creature." 


470  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"That's  for  ministers,  and  missionaries,"  said 
Christina. 

"The  order  was  given  to  all  the  disciples.  Arid 
he  commanded  us  to  be  lights  in  the  world." 

"  Of  course — to  set  good  examples." 

"That  is  not  quite  the  whole,"  said  Mr.  Shubrick; 
"  though  people  do  take  it  so,  I  believe." 

"  I  have  always  taken  it  so,"  said  Dolly.  "  What 
more  can  it  be  ?  " 

"Eemember  the  words — 'Whatsoever  doth  make 
manifest,  is  light.'  There  is  the  key.  There  are 
good  examples — so  called — which  disturb  nobody. 
There  are  others  " — he  spoke  very  gravely, — "  be- 
fore which  sin  knows  itself,  and  conscience  shrinks 
away;  before  which  no  lie  can  stand.  Those  are 
the  Lord's  light-bearers." 

"Sandie,  what'  has  got  you  into  this  vein  of 
moralizing?  Is  this  talk  for  Christmas  eve,  when 
we  ought  to  be  merry  ?  Don't  you  lead  a  dreadful 
dull  life  on  board  ship  ?  " 

"Xo,"  said  he.  "Xever.  Neither  there  nor  any- 
where else." 

"Are  you  always  picking  at  the  wick  of  that 
light  of  yours,  to  make  it  shine  more  ?  " 

"By  no  means.  Xo  lamp  would  stand  such 
treatment.  Xo;  the  only  thing  for  us  to  do  in 
that  connection  is  to  see  that  the  supply  of  oil  is 
kept  up." 

"  Sandie,  life  would  be  fearful  on  your  terms !  " 

"  I  do  not  find  it  so." 

And,  "  O  no,  Christina ! "  came  from  Dolly's  lips 


CHRISTMAS  EVE.  471 

at  the  same  time.  Christina  looked  from  one  to 
the  other. 

"I  had  better  gone  to  the  Sistine,"  she  said.  "I 
suppose  you  would  tell  me  there  to  look  at  Michael 
Angelo's  picture  of  the  Last  Judgment.  But  I  as- 
sure you  I  never  do.  I  make  a  point  not  to  see  it." 

"What  do  you  enjoy  most  in  this  old  city,  Miss 
Copley  ?  "  Mr.  Shubrick  said  now,  turning  to  her. 

"  I  hardly  can  tell,"  said  Dolly ;  "  I  enjoy  it  all  so 
very  much.  I  think,  of  all — perhaps  the  Colosseum." 

"  That  old  ruin !  "  said  Christina. 

"But  it  is  such  a  beautiful  ruin !  Have  you 
seen  it  by  moonlight?  And  I  always  think  of 
the  time  when  it  was  finished,  and  full,  and  of  the 
things  that  were  done  there;  and  I  fancy  the  times 
when  the  moonlight  shone  in  just  so  after  the 
days  when  Christians  had  been  given  to  the  lions. 
I  never  get  tired  of  the  Colosseum." 

"  You  too ! "  exclaimed  Christina.  "  What  pleas- 
ant and  enlivening  contemplations !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Dolly.  "  Grand.  I  see  the  moon- 
light shining  on  the  broken  walls  of  the  Colosseum, 
and  I  think  of  the  martyrs  in  their  white  robes. 
There  is  no  place  brings  me  nearer  to  heaven,  and 
the  world  looks  so  small." 

"  Dolly  Copley  !  "  ci-ied  Christina.  "  Do  you 
want  the  world  to  look  small,  as  long  as  you  are 
obliged  to  live  in  it  ?  " 

u  It  looks  big  enough,"  said  Dolly  smiling,  "  as 
soon  as  I  get  home." 

The  conversation  however  after  this  did  take  a 


472  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

turn,  and  ran  upon  more  every  day  topics;  less 
interesting  to  Dolly  however.  But  the  speakers 
were  interesting  always;  and  she  watched  them, 
the  play  of  sense  and  nonsense,  of  feeling  and  fun, 
not  caring  much  that  the  matter  of  the  talk  did 
not  concern  her;  until  Mrs.  Thayer  and  her  escort 
were  heard  returning. 

And  then  indeed  the  evening  changed  its  char- 
acter; however  the  fascination  remained  for  Dolly. 
The  talk  was  no  longer  on  personal  subjects;  it 
went  gayly  and  jovially  over  all  sorts  of  light  mat- 
ters; an  excellent  supper  was  served;  and  in  the 
novelty  and  the  brightness  and  the  liveliness  of  all 
about  her,  Dolly  was  in  a  kind  of  bewitchment. 
It  was  a  lull,  a  pause  in  the  midst  of  her  cares, 
a  still  nook  to  which  an  eddy  had  brought  her,  out 
of  the  current;  Dolly  took  the  full  benefit.  She 
would  not  think  of  trouble.  Sometimes  a  swift 
feeling  of  contrast  swept  in  upon  her,  the  contrast 
of  her  friend's  safe  and  sheltered  life.  No  care  for 
her;  no  anxiety  about  ways  and  means;  no  need 
to  work  for  money;  and  no  need  to  fear  for  any- 
body dear  to  her.  Christina's  father  was  her  guar- 
dian, not  she  his;  he  might  be  a  very  hum  drum 
man,  and  no  doubt  was,  but  his  daughter  had  no 
cause  to  be  ashamed  for  him ;  had  not  the  burden 
'of  his  life  and  character  on  her  own  shoulders  to 
take  care  of.  A  swift,  keen  feeling  of  this  contrast 
would  come  over  Dolly;  but  she  put  it  away  as 
instantly,  and  would  not  see  or  hear  anything  but 
what  was  pleasant. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

NAPLES. 

DOLLY  shared  her  friend's  room.  Talk  ran  on, 
all  the  while  they  were  undressing,  upon  all 
manner  of  trifles.  When  they  were  laid  down, 
however,  and  Dolly  was  just  rejoicing  to  be  quiet 
and  think,  Christina  began  to  speak  in  a  different 
tone. 

"  Dolly,  how  do  you  like  him  ?  " 

I  think,  if  Dolly  had  liked  him  less,  she  would 
have  been  fuller  in  his  praise.  I  do  not  know  by 
what  sort  of  hidden  instinct  and  unconscious  di- 
plomacy she  answered  very  coolly  and  with  no 
enthusiasm. 

"  I  like  him  very  well.     I  think  he  is  true." 

"  True !  Of  course  he  is  true.  If  he  wouldn't 
be  so  stupid.  To  expect  one  to  be  unlike  all  the 
world ! " 

Dolly  was  silent. 

"  He's  crotchetty,  that's  what  he  is,"  Christina 
went  on.  "  I  hate  a  man  to  be  crotchetty.  I  shall 
work  him  out  of  it,  if  ever  we  come  to  live  to- 
gether." 

"  1  don't  believe  you  will,  Christina." 

"  Why  not  ?  " — quickly. 


474  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  I  don't  think  you  will,"  Dolly  repeated. 

"Because  you  have  the  same  notions  that  he 
has.  My  dear  little  Dolly!  you  don't  know  the 
world.  You  oarit  live  in  the  world  and  be  running 
your  head  perpetually  against  it;  indeed  you  can- 
not. You  may  break  your  head,  but  you  won't  do 
anything  else.  And  the  world  will  laugh  at  you." 

"But  Christina,  whom  do  you  serve?  For  it 
comes  to  that." 

"  Whom  do  1  serve !  Pooh,  that's  not  the  ques- 
tion." 

"  It  comes  to  that,  Christina." 

"  Well,  of  course  there  is  but  one  answer.  But 
Sandie  would  have  me  give  up  everything ; — every- 
thing ! — all  I  like,  and  all  I  want  to  do." 

"  Christina,  it  seems  to  me  the  Bible  says  we 
must  give  Christ  our  whole  selves." 

"0  if  you  are  going  to  take  the  Bible  literally — 

"  How  else  can  you  take  it  ?  " 

"Seasonably." 

"  But  how  are  you  going  to  settle  what  is  rea- 
sonable ?  Didn't  the  Lord  know  what  he  wanted 
his  people  to  do  ?  And  he  said  we  must  give  him 
ourselves  and  all  we  have  got." 

"  Have  you  ?  "  said  Christina. 

"What?" 

"  Given  up  all,  as  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  have,"  Dolly  answered  slowly.  "  I 
arn  sure,  Christina,  I  do  not  want  anything  but 
what  God  chooses  to  give  me." 

"And  are  you  ready  to  give  up  all  your  own 


NAPLES.  475 

pleasure  and  amusement,  and  your  time,  and  be 
like  no  one  else,  and  have  no  friends  in  the  world?" 
Christina  spoke  the  words  in  a  kind  of  hurry. 

"You  go  too  fast,"  said  Dolly.  "You  ask  too 
many  things  at  once;  and  you  forget  what  Mr. 
Shubrick  said — that  it  is  pleasure  to  please  our 
Master.  He  said  it  was  his  meat  to  do  his  Father's 
will;  and  he  is  our  pattern.  And  doing  his  will 
does  not  prevent  either  pleasure  or  amusement,  of 
the  right  sort;  not  at  all.  0  Christina!  I  do  not 
think  anybody  is  rightly  happy,  except  those  who 
love  Christ  and  obey  him." 

"  Are  you  happy  j* "  was  the  next  quick  question. 
Dolly  could  not  answer  it  as  immediately. 

"  If  I  am  not,"  she  said  at  last,  "  it  is  because 
there  are  some  things  in  my  life  just  now  that — 
trouble  me." 

"  Dear  Dolly ! "  said  Christina  affectionately. 
"  But  you  looked  quite  happy  this  evening." 

"  I  was,"  said  Dolly.     "  You  made  me  so." 

Christina  kissed  her,  and  thereupon  at  once  fell 
asleep.  But  Dolly  was  not  sleepy.  Her  thoughts 
were  wide  awake,  and  roved  over  everything  in 
the  world,  it  seemed  to  her;  at  least  over  all  her 
friend's  affairs  and  over  all  her  own.  She  was  riot 
fretting,  only  looking  at  things.  Christina's  ease 
and  security  and  carelessness,  her  own  burdens 
and  responsibilities;  the  fulness  of  means  here,  the 
difficulty  of  getting  supplies  in  her  own  house- 
hold; Sandie  Shubrick,  finally,  and  Lawrence  St. 
Leger !  What  a  strange  difference  between  one 


476  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

lot  and  another!  It  was  a  bright  night;  the 
moonlight  streamed  in  at  one  of  the  windows  in 
a  yellow  flood.  Dolly  lay  staring  at  the  pool  of 
light  on  the  floor.  Roman  moonlight !  And  so 
the  same  moonlight  had  poured  down  in  old  times 
iipon  the  city  of  the  Cassars;  lighted  up  their  pal- 
aces and  triumphal  arches;  yes,  and  the  pile  of  the 
Colosseum  and  the  bones  of  the  martyrs.  The 
same  moonlight !  Old  Rome  lay  buried ;  the  op- 
pressor and  the  oppressed  were  passed  away;  the 
persecutor  and  his  victims  alike  long  gone  from  the 
scene  of  their  doings  and  sufferings;  and  the  same 
moon  shining  on !  "  What  shadows  we  are  in  com- 
parison !  "  thought  Dolly ;  and  then  her  thoughts 
instantly  corrected  themselves.  Not  we,  but  this, 
is  the  shadow;  this  material,  so  unchanging  earth. 
Sense  misleads  us.  "The  world  passeth  away  and 
the  lust  thereof;  but  he  that  doeth  the  will  of  God 
abideth  forever."  Then  it  is  only  to  do  that, 
thought  Dolly;  be  it  hard  or  easy;  that  is  the 
only  thing  to  care  about.  And  therewith  another 
word  came  to  her;  it  seemed  to  be  written  in  the 
moonlight; — "Who  shall  separate  us  from  the  love 
of  Christ  ?  "  It  came  so  soft  and  sweet  upon  Dol- 
ly's heart  as  I  can  hardly  tell;  her  eyelids  dropped 
from  their  watch,  and  in  another  minute  she  too 
was  fast  asleep. 

The  next  day  was  wholly  pleasant  to  her.  It 
was  merry,  as  Christmas  ought  to  be;  and  Dolly 
had  laid  aside  her  own  cares  arid  took  everything 
as  lightheartedly  as  anybody  else.  More,  perhaps, 


NAPLES.  477 

if  the  truth  were  known ;  for  Dolly  had  laid  her 
cares  she  knew  where,  and  that  they  would  be 
looked  after.  The  pleasant  people  whose  festivi- 
ties she  shared  were  all  kind  to  her;  she  had  not 
been  forgotten  in  the  gifts  which  were  flying 
about;  and  altogether  the  day  was  a  white  one. 
It  only  ended  too  soon.  At  four  o'clock  Dolly  pre- 
pared to  go  home.  Christina  protested  that  she 
was  not  wanted  there. 

"  I  am  wanted  more  than  you  think.  I  must  give 
mother  a  piece  of  my  Christmas  day." 

"Well  you're  all  coming  to  us  at  Sorrento,  re- 
member; and  that  will  be  charming.  We  will  go 
everywhere  together.  And  Sandie; — you  will  be 
with  us  Sandie?  in  the  spring,  at  the  villa?  0 
you  must !  " 

"  If  I  possibly  can,"  he  said  gravely. 

"  And  Sandie  will  take  you  home  now,  as  you 
must  go.  I  see  he  is  ready." 

Dolly  would  have  objected,  but  she  could  not 
alter  this  arrangement;  and  Mr.  Shubrick  walked 
home  with  her.  It  was  a  very  matter-of-fact  walk 
however.  There  was  as  nearly  as  possible  no  con- 
versation between  the  two.  Nevertheless  the  walk 
had  its  fascination  for  Dolly.  The  stately,  straight, 
manly  figure  beside  her,  inspired  her  with  an  ad- 
miration which  had  a  little  awe  mixed  with  it ;  to 
walk  with  him,  even  in  silence,  was  an  undoubted 
pleasure;  and  when  he  took  leave  of  her  at  the 
door  of  her  lodgings  and  turned  away,  Dolly  felt 
— and  not  till  then — that  her  holiday  was  over. 


478  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

She  went  up  the  stairs  slowly.  Her  short  holi- 
day was  over.  Now  work  again.  Well !  Dolly 
remembered  the  conclusion  of  last  night's  thoughts 
in  the  moonlight ;  took  up  her  burden  on  her  shoul- 
ders, and  carried  it  up  stairs  with  her. 

She  found  her  mother  alone. 

"  Dearest  mother,  how  do  you  do  ? "  she  said 
kissing  her;  "and  how  has  the  day  been  ?  I  have 
staid  away  pretty  late,  but  I  could  hardly  help  it; 
and  I  have  had  a  very  nice  time." 

"  I  don't  like  holidays,"  was  Mrs.  Copley's  an- 
swer. "They're  the  wearisomest  days  I  know;  es- 
pecially when  every  one  else  is  out  and  enjoying 
himself.  This  Christmas  has  been  a  year  long, 
seems  to  me.  Who  did  you  see  ?  " 

"Just  themselves,  and  Christina's  friend,  Mr. 
Shubr  ck." 

"  What's  he  like  ?  " 

"  He's  very  fine,  mother,  I  think.  Christina 
ought  to  be  a  happy  woman." 

"He  hasn't  got  anything,  as  I  understand?" 
said  Mrs.  Copley.  "  I  don't  think  Mrs.  Thayer 
is  at  all  delighted  with  the  match.  I  know  I 
shouldn't  be." 

"  Mrs.  Thayer  does  not  see  things  with  my  eyes, 
probably;  and  you  don't  see  them  at  all,  mother 
dear,  not  knowing  Mr.  Shubrick.  Look  at  my 
presents;  see  this  lovely  cameo  ring;  Christina 
gave  it  to  me  Christmas  eve;  and  this  brooch  is 
from  Mrs.  Thayer;  and  Mr.  Thayer  gave  me  this 
dear  little  bronze  lamp." 


NAPLES.  479 

"  What  do  you  want  with  such  a  thing  as  that  ? 
you  can't  use  it." 

"  O  for  the  antique  beauty,  mother ;  and  the 
lovely  shape.  It's  real  bronze,  and  Mr.  Thayer 
says  the  workmanship  is  very  fine." 

"  But  he  has  nothing,  has  he  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Cop- 
ley, weighing  the  bronze  lamp  in  her  hand  dis- 
approvingly. 

"Who?  He  has  another  just  like  it.  Do  you 
mean  Mr.  Thayer  ?  " 

"  Pshaw,  child,  no !  I  mean  the  other  man, 
Christina's  intended.  He  has  nothing,  has  he  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  call  '  nothing.'  He 
has  a  very  fine  figure,  an  excellent  face,  sense  and 
firmness  and  gentleness;  arid  a  manner  that's  fas- 
cinating. I  never  saw  anybody  with  a  finer  man- 
ner. I  think  he  has  a  good  deal." 

"  Mr.  St.  Leger  has  all  that,  Dolly,  and  money 
to  boot." 

"  Mother  I  There  is  all  the  difference  in  the 
world  between  the  two  men." 

"St.  Leger  has  the  money,  though;  and  that 
makes  more  difference  than  anything  else  I  know 
of.  Dolly,  I  wish  you  would  make  up  your 
mind.  I  think  that  would  bring  your  father  all 
right." 

"  Where  is  father,  mother  ?  " 

"Gone  out." 

"But  I  thought  he  would  stay  with  you  while 
I  was  away.  Couldn't  you  keep  him  at  home, 
mother?  just  this  one  day?" 


480  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  I  never  try  to  influence  your  father's  motions, 
Dolly.  I  never  did.  And  it  would  be  no  use. 
Men  do  not  bear  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  What  sort  of  thing  ?  " 

"  Interference.  They  never  do.  No  man  of  any 
spunk  does.  They  are  all  alike  in  that." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  no  man  will  give  up  any  of 
his  pleasure  for  a  woman  that  he  loves,  and  that 
loves  him  ?  " 

"  While  men  are  just  in  love,  Dolly,  and  before 
they  are  married,  they  will  make  fools  of  them- 
selves; and  for  a  little  while  after.  Then  things 
fall  into  their  regular  train ;  and  their  regular  train 
is  as  I  tell  you.  Let  a  man  alone,  if  you  want  to 
keep  the  peace  and  have  a  comfortable  time,  Dolly. 
I  never  interfere  with  your  father.  I  never  did." 

Would  it  have  been  better  if  she  had?  Dolly 
queried.  She  must  interfere  with  him  now,  and  it 
was  hard.  Dolly  thought  the  wife  might  have 
done  it  easier  than  the  daughter.  She  did  not  be- 
lieve her  father  was  looking  up  antiquities;  she 
had  not  faith  in  his  love  of  art;  he  could  be  on  no 
good  errand,  she  greatly  feared.  Christmas  day! 
and  he  would  go  out  and  leave  his  nervous,  in- 
valid wife  to  count  her  fingers  in  solitude;  not 
even  waiting  till  Dolly  should  be  at  home  again. 
Are  all  men  like  that?  Mr.  Shubrick,  for  instance? 
But  what  was  to  be  done?  If  Mr.  Copley  had 
found  places  and  means  of  dissipation  in  Rome, 
then  Rome  was  a  safe  abode  for  him  no  longer. 
Where  would  be  a  safe  abode  ?  Dolly's  heart  was 


NAPLES.  ,  481 

bitter  in  its  sorrow  for  a  moment;  then  she  gath- 
ered herself  up. 

"  Mother,  do  you  like  Rome  ?  " 
"  Why  should  I  like  it  ?  I  think  we  came  away 
from  Venice  a  great  deal  too  soon.  You  would 
come,  Dolly.  There  is  nothing  here,  for  me,  but 
old  tumble-down  places;  and  the  meals  are  not 
near  so  good  as  we  had  there  in  Venice.  No,  I'm 
sick  and  tired  of  Rome.  I'm  glad  you've  had  a 
good  Christmas  day;  it's  been  forlorn  to  me." 

"  I  won't  go  again  from  you,  mother.     Will  you 
like  to  make  a  visit  to  the  Thayers  at  their  villa  ?  " 
"  I  don't  know.     Is  Mr.  St.  Leger  invited  ?  " 
"  Particularly." 
"And  the  other  man?" 
"  What  other  man  ?  "  said  Dolly  laughing. 
"  You  know, — Christina's  man." 
"  He  is  asked.     I  do  not  know  about  his  coming. 
He  would  if  he  could,  he  said.     Why  ?  do  you  want 
to  see  him  ?  " 
"  No." 

It  was  well  on  in  the  evening  before  Mr.  Copley 
made  his  appearance.  And  then  he  was  taciturn 
and  not  in  an  agreeable  temper.  The  worse  for 
wine  he  was  not,  in  one  sense;  he  was  in  no  meas- 
ure overcome  by  it;  but  Dolly  knew  that  he  had 
been  taking  it  somewhere.  0  fathers !  she  thought, 
— if  you  are  not  to  "provoke  your  children  to  an- 
ger," neither  ought  you  to  drive  them  to  despair; 
and  you  ought  never,  never,  to  let  them  blush  for 
you !  That  I  should  be  ashamed  for  my  father  1 
31 


482  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

She  said  nothing  that  night  but  what  was  in  the 
way  of  sweetest  ministry  to  both  father  and  mother. 
She  talked  of  all  that  she  had  seen  and  done  during 
her  visit.  She  got  out  a  supper  of  fruit,  and  would 
have  them  eat  it.  Not  very  easy  work,  for  her 
father  was  glum  and  her  mother  unresponsive ;  but 
she  did  what  could  be  done.  Next  day  she  pro- 
posed going  on  to  Sorrento. 

"  It  does  not  agree  very  well  with  mother  here ; 
at  least  I  do  not  think  she  is  gaining;  and  she 
does  not  enjoy  it." 

"  You  enjoy  it,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  0  yes ;  as  far  as  that  goes.  But  1  care  more 
for  mother  and  you." 

"  And  I  care  for  you,  Dolly.  No,  no ;  we  are  old 
people ;  it  doesn't  signify  a  rush  whether  we  like 
it  or  no.  You  are  young,  and  you  are  here  for 
once,  in  Home,  and  I  am  not  going  away  till  you've 
seen  it  fairly.  Don't  you  say  so,  mother,  hey? 
Now  she  has  got  a  good  chance,  she  must  use  it." 

"  I'm  afraid  it's  expensive — "  put  in  Mrs.  Copley. 

"Nonsense;  no  more  than  anywhere  else.  It'll 
be  just  about  the  same  thing  at  Sorrento,  or  where- 
ever  you  go.  See  all  you  can,  Dolly.  We'll  stay." 

"I  should  think  you  would  send  Rupert  home 
at  least,"  said  his  wife  rather  disconsolately;  but 
true  to  her  principles  she  put  in  no  objection 
to  her  husband's  pleasure.  "  We  might  save  so 
much." 

"We  shouldn't  save  anything.  Rupert  makes 
himself  very  useful ;  if  we  had  not  him,  we  should 


NAPLES.  483 

want  some  rogue  of  a  courier.  I'll  keep  Rupert. 
How  he  enjoys  it,  the  dog ! " 

Rupert  was  invaluable  to  Dolly,  though  she  said 
nothing  about  it.  Always  ready  to  attend  upon 
her,  always  devoted  to  her  wishes,  her  intelligent 
companion,  and  her  most  faithful  and  efficient  ser- 
vant in  making  purchases  of  drawing  materials  or 
in  disposing  of  her  finished  work.  Dolly  attempted 
to  overrule  the  decision  made  ostensibly  in  her 
favour,  that  their  stay  in  Rome  should  be  pro- 
longed; but  had  no  success.  Everybody,  except 
only  her  mother,  was  against  her.  And  though 
she  feared  sadly  that  her  father's  motive  was  two- 
fold and  regarded  his  own  pleasure  more  than  hers, 
she  could  not  change  the  present  status  of  things." 

They  remained  at  Rome  all  winter.  It  was  a 
winter  of  mingled  delight  and  distress  to  Dolly; 
strangely  mingled.  The  immediate  money  cares 
were  lifted  off;  that  was  one  thing.  The  family 
lived  cheaply,  and  gave  themselves  few  indul- 
gences, but  the  bills  were  paid,  somehow;  and  it 
was  a  perpetual  indulgence  only  to  be  in  Rome. 
How  Dolly  took  the  good  of  it,  I  have  not  room  to 
describe.  She  was  busy,  too;  she  even  worked 
hard.  Before  the  Thayers  went  away,  she  had 
taken  all  their  portraits ;  and  with  so  much  accept- 
ance that  they  introduced  her  to  other  friends; 
and  Dolly's  custom  grew  to  be  considerable.  It 
paid  well,  for  her  pictures  were  really  exquisite. 
Her  great  natural  gift  had  been  trained  judiciously, 
so  far  as  it  was  trained  at  all,  in  America ;  and  now 


484  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

necessity  spurred  her,  and  practice  helped  her, 
and  habitually  conscientious  work  lost  no  time, 
and  maturing  sense  and  feeling  added  constant  new 
charm  to  her  performances,  discernment  to  her  eye, 
and  skill  to  her  hand.  Dolly  was  accumulating  a 
little  stock  of  money  against  a  time  of  need;  and 
the  secret  knowledge  of  this  was  a  perpetual 
comfort. 

And  when  she  gave  herself  play-time,  how  she 
played!  Then,  with  her  father  if  she  could  get 
him,  or  with  Rupert  if,  as  most  often  was  the  case, 
Mr.  Copley  was  out  of  the  way  or  indisposed  for 
sight-seeing,  Dolly  went  about  the  old  city,  drink- 
ing in  pleasure ;  revelling  in  historical  associations, 
which  were  always  a  hobby  of  hers;  feasting  with 
untiring  enjoyment  on  the  wonders  of  architecture 
old  and  new;  or  in  churches  and  galleries  losing 
herself  in  rapt  ecstasy  before  this  or  that  marvel 
of  the  painter's  art.  It  was  a  wonderful  winter  to 
Dolly.  Many  a  young  lady  has  passed  the  same 
season  in  the  same  place,  but  it  is  only  one  here 
and  there  who  finds  the  hundredth  part  of  the  men- 
tal food  and  delectation  that  Dolly  found.  Day  by 
day  she  was  growing,  and  knew  it;  in  delicacy  of 
appreciation,  in  tenderness  of  feeling,  in  power  of 
soul  to  grasp,  in  largeness  of  heart  to  love,  in 
courage  to  do  and  suffer.  For  all  Dolly's  studying 
and  enjoying  she  did  in  the  light  of  Bible  truth  and 
the  enriching  of  heavenly  influences;  and  so,  in 
pictures  of  the  old  masters  and  creations  of  the 
grand  architects  of  old  and  new  time,  she  found 


NAPLES.  485 

truth  and  teaching  and  testimony  utterly  missed 
by  those  who  have  not  the  right  key.  It  is  the 
same  with  nature  and  with  all  the  great  arts;  for 
Truth  is  one ;  and  if  you  are  quite  ignorant  of  her 
in  her  highest  and  grandest  revelations,  you  can- 
not by  possibility  understand  the  more  subordinate 
and  initiative.  Some  dim  sense  of  the  hidden 
mystery,  some  vague  appreciation  of  the  outward 
beauty  of  the  language,  without  getting  at  its  ex- 
pressed meaning,  or  but  very  partially,  just  so  far 
as  you  have  the  key;  that  is  all  there  is  for  you. 

In  all  Dolly's  horizon  there  was  but  one  cloud. 
Lawrence  was  one  of  the  company,  it  is  true,  al- 
most one  of  the  family;  treated  with  greatest  con- 
sideration and  familiarity  by  both  father  and  moth- 
er. But  Dolly  was  not  a  weak  young  woman.  She 
knew  her  own  mind,  and  she  had  given  Lawrence 
to  know  it;  she  was  in  no  confusion  about  him, 
and  her  conscience  was  clear.  Lawrence  was  also 
enjoying  Rome,  after  his  own  fashion;  if  he  was 
staying  for  her,  Dolly  did  not  know  it  and  it  was 
not  her  fault. 

So  her  one  only  shadow  upon  the  brightness  at 
Rome  came  from  her  father.  Not  that  he  went 
into  any  great  excesses;  or  if  he  did,  they  were 
hidden  from  Dolly;  but  he  indulged  himself,  she 
knew,  in  one  at  least  of  his  mischievous  pleasures. 
She  had  no  reason  to  suppose  that  he  gambled;  as 
I  said,  there  was  always  money  to  discharge  the 
weekly  bills;  but  he  found  wine  somewhere  and 
drank  it;  that  was  certain;  and  when  did  ever 


486  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

evil  habits  stand  still  ?  If  he  kept  within  bounds 
now,  who  should  warrant  her  that  he  would  con- 
tinue to  do  so  ?  Mr.  Copley  came  home  sometimes 
cheerful  and  disposed  to  be  merry;  he  had  taken 
only  enough  to  exhilarate  him ;  at  other  times  he 
came  home  gloomy  and  cross,  and  then  Dolly 
knew  he  had  drunk  enough  to  confuse  his  head 
and  slightly  disturb  his  conscience.  What  could 
she  do  ?  She  clenched  her  little  hands  sometimes 
when  she  was  walking  the  streets,  and  sometimes 
she  wrung  them,  in  impotent  grief.  She  strove  to 
win  her  father  to  share  in  her  pleasures;  with  lit- 
tle success.  She  was  lovely  to  him  as  a  daughter 
could  be,  always ;  and  at  the  same  time  she  let  him 
see  by  her  grave  face  and  subdued  manner  when 
he  came  home  with  the  breath  of  wine  upon  his 
lips,  that  she  was  troubled  and  grieved.  What 
more  coulcl  she  do  ?  So  her  winter  was  a  compli- 
cation of  great  enjoyment  with  anxiety  and  mor- 
tification. 

About  the  end  of  March  they  left  the  delightful 
old  city  and  set  off  southwards.  To  Sorrento,  was 
Dolly's  fond  hope.  But  when  they  got  to  Naples, 
she  found  that  all  the  men  of  the  party  were  against 
proceeding  further,  at  least  before  the  pleasures  and 
novelties  of  that  place  had  also  bean  tasted. 

"There's  a  famous  museum   here,   Dolly,"  said 
her  father.     "  You  could  not  pass  that  ?  " 

"  And  Pompeii — don't  you  want  to  see  Pompeii  ?  " 
cried  Rupert. 

"It  will  be  pleasanter  at  Sorrento  later  in  the 


NAPLES.  487 

season,"  said  Lawrence ;  "  much  pleasanter.  Wait 
till  it  grows  warm  here;  then  Sorrento  will  be  de- 
lightful. We  are  taking  everything  just  at  the 
right  time." 

"  And  it  is  as  beautiful  here  as  you  can  find  any- 
thing," added  Mr.  Copley.  "  You  want  to  look  at 
the  bay  of  Naples,  now  you  have  the  chance." 

Yes,  said  Dolly  to  herself,  and  they  say  the  wines 
are  good  at  Naples  too  !  But  she  gave  up  the  ques- 
tion. They  established  themselves  in  a  hotel. 

"  For  how  long,  I  wonder  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Copley  to 
Dolly  when  they  were  alone.  "It  seems  as  if  I 
wasn't  going  to  get  to  Sorrento.  I  don't  know 
what  I  expect  there,  either,  I  am  sure ;  only  we  set 
out  to  go  to  Sorrento  for  my  health;  and  here  we 
are  in  Naples  after  five  months  of  wandering  and 
lounging  about !  and  here  we  are  going  to  stay,  it 
seems." 

"The  wandering  and  lounging  about  was  very 
good  for  you,  mother  dear.  You  are  a  great  deal 
improved  in  your  looks." 

"  I  wish  I  was  in  my  feelings." 

"  You  are,  aren't  you  ?  " 

"  What  does  your  father  want  to  do  in  Naples  ?  " 

"I  don't  know.  They  all  want  to  stay  here  a 
while,  you  see.  And  mother,  don't  you  enjoy  this 
wonderful  view  ?  "  For  their  windows  commanded 
the  bay. 

"  I'd  rather  see  Boston  harbour,  by  half." 

"  0  so  would  I ! — on  some  accounts.  But  mother, 
it  is  a  great  thing  to  see  Naples." 


488  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"So  your  father  thinks.  Men  never  do  know 
what  they  want;  only  it  is  always  something  they 
haven't  got." 

"  We're  in  Naples,  though,  mother." 

"We  shan't  be  long." 

"  Well  we  don't  want  to  be  here  long,  mother." 

"  I'd  like  to  be  still  somewheres.  Your  father'd 
as  lieve  be  anywheres  else  as  at  home ;  but  I  like 
to  see  my  own  fire  burn.  I  don'  know  as  I  ever 
shall,  again.  Unless  you'll  marry  Mr.  St.  Leger, 
Dolly.  That  would  bring  all  right,  at  one  stroke." 

From  which  suggestion  Dolly  always  escaped  as 
fast  as  possible. 

It  turned  out  that  they  were  to  stay  a  good  while 
at  Naples.  Perhaps  Mr.  Copley  feared  the  seclusion 
of  a  private  house  at  Sorrento.  However  that  were, 
he  seemed  to  find  motives  to  d«ftain  him  where  he 
was,  and  Lawrence  St.  Leger  was  nothing  loth. 
The  days  went  by,  till  Dolly  herself  grew  impa- 
tient. They  went  very  much  after  the  former  man- 
ner, as  far  as  the  gentlemen  were  concerned;  Law- 
rence found  society,  and  Mr.  Copley  too,  naturally, 
took  pleasure  in  meeting  a  good  many  people  to 
whom  he  was  known.  What  other  pleasure  he 
took  in  their  company  Dolly  could  but  guess;  with 
him  things  went  on  very  much  as  they  had  done  in 
Rome. 

With  her,  not.  Dolly  knew  nobody,  kept  close 
by  her  mother,  who  eschewed  all  society,  and  so 
of  course  had  no  likenesses  to  paint.  She  worked 
busily  at  the  other  sort  of  painting  which  had 


NAPLES.  489 

engaged  her  in  Venice;  made  lovely  little  pictures 
of  Naples,  rather  of  bits  of  Naples;  characteristic 
bits ;  which  were  done  with  so  much  truth  and  grace 
that  Eupert  without  difficulty  disposed  of  them  to 
the  fancy  dealers.  The  time  of  photographs  was  not 
yet;  and  Dolly  made  money  steadily.  She  enjoyed 
this  work  greatly.  Her  other  pleasures  were  found 
in  walks  about  the  city,  and  in  visits  to  the  mu- 
seum. There  was  not  in  Naples  the  wealth  of  art 
objects  which  had  been  so  inexhaustible  in  Rome ; 
nevertheless  the  museum  furnished  an  interest  all 
its  own ;  and  Dolly  went  there  day  after  day.  In- 
deed the  interest  grew;  and  objects  which  at  her 
first  going  she  passed  carelessly  by,  at  the  fourth 
or  fifth  she  began  to  study  with  intent  interest. 
The  small  bronzes  found  at  Pompeii  were  pored 
over  by  her  and  Rupert  till  they  almost  knew  the 
several  pieces  by  heart,  and  had  constructed  over 
them  a  whole  system  of  the  ways  of  private  life  in 
those  old  days  when  they  were  made  and  used. 
Dolly  often  managed  to  persuade  her  father  to  be 
her  escort  when  she  went  to  the  museum ;  and  Mr. 
Copley  would  go  patiently,  for  Dolly's  sake,  seeing 
the  extreme  delight  it  afforded  her ;  but  Mr.  Copley 
was  not  always  to  be  had,  and  then  Dolly  chose 
certain  parts  of  the  collection  which  she  and  Ru- 
pert could  study  together.  So  they  gave  a  great 
deal  of  time  to  the  collection  of  coins;  not  at 
first,  but  by  degrees  drawn  on.  So  with  the  fa- 
mous collection  of  antique  bronzes.  Rupert  looked 
on  these  in  the  beginning  with  a  depreciating  eye. 


490  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"What's  the  fun  here?  I  don't  get  at  it,"  he 
remarked. 

"  0  Rupert !  the  beauty  of  the  things." 

"They  are  what  I  call  right  homely.  What  a 
colour  they  have  got.  Is  it  damp,  or  what  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  know  ?  these  dark  ones  come  from 
Herculaneum,  and  were  locked  up  in  lava;  the 
others,  the  greenish  ones,  are  from  Pompeii,  where 
the  covering  was  lighter  and  they  were  exposed  to 
damp,  as  you  say." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  they  are  curious,  being  so 
ancient." 

"  Rupert,  they  are  most  beautiful." 

But  Rupert  as  well  as  Dolly  found  a  mine  of  in- 
terest in  the  Greek  and  gladiatorial  armour  and 
weapons. 

"  It  makes  my  head  turn  !  "  said  Rupert. 

"  What  ?  " 

"Why  it  is  eighteen  hundred  years  ago.  To 
think  that  men  lived  and  fought  with  those  hel- 
mets and  weapons  and  shields,  so  long  back !  and 
now  here  are  the  shields  and  helmets,  but  where 
are  the  men  ?  " 

Dolly  said  nothing. 

"  Do  you  think  they  are  anywhere?" 

"  Certainly  I "  said  Dolly  turning  upon  him.  "As 
certainly  as  they  wore  that  armour  once." 

"Where  then?" 

"I  can't  tell  you  that.  The  Bible  and  the 
ancients  call  it  Hades — the  place  of  departed 
spirits." 


NAPLES.  491 

"  But  here  are  their  shields, — and  folks  come  and 
look  at  them." 

"  Yes." 

"  It  gives  one  a  sort  of  queer  feeling." 

"  Yes,"  said  Dolly.  "  One  of  those  helmets  may- 
have  belonged  to  a  conqueror,  and  another  may 
have  been  unclasped  from  a  dead  gladiator's  head. 
And  it  don't  matter  much  to  either  of  them  now." 

"It  seems  as  if  nothing  in  the  world  mattered 
much,"  said  Eupert. 

"It  don't!"  said  Dolly  quickly.  "'The  world 
passeth  away  and  the  lust  thereof;  but  he  that 
doeth  the  will  of  God  abideth  forever.' " 

"You  think  such  a  one  is  better  off  than  the 
rest?"  said  Kupert.  "How?  You  say  the  rest 
are  living  somewhere." 

"  Existing." 

"What's  the  difference?" 

"  Just  all  the  difference  between  light  and  dark- 
ness;— or  between  life  and  death.  You  would  not 
call  it  living,  if  all  joy  and  hope  were  gone  out  of 
existence;  you  would  wish  that  existence  could 
end." 

"  How  do  you  know  all  about  it  so  well,  Miss 
Dolly  ? "  the  young  man  asked  a  little  incredu- 
lously. 

"  Rupert,  it  begins  in  this  world.  I  know  a  lit- 
tle of  the  difference  now.  I  never  was  where  all 
joy  and  hope  were  gone  out  of  existence — though 
I  have  seen  trouble,"  said  Dolly  gravely.  "  But  I 
do  know  that  nothing  in  this  world  is  so  good  as 


492  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

the  love  of  Christ;  and  that  without  him  life  is  not 
life." 

"  People  seem  to  have  a  good  time,  without  it," 
said  Rupert. 

"For  a  little.  How  would  they  be,  do  you 
think,  if  all  their  pleasures  were  taken  away? — 
their  money  and  all  their  money  gets  for  them; 
friends  and  all  ?  " 

"  Wretched  dogs,"  said  Rupert. 

"But  nobody  in  the  world  that  loved  Christ 
was  ever  that,"  Dolly  said  smiling. 

There  was  in  her  smile  something  so  tender  and 
triumphant  at  once,  that  it  silenced  Rupert.  It 
was  a  testimony  quite  beyond  words.  For  that 
instant  Dolly's  spirit  looked  out  of  the  transparent 
features,  and  the  light  went  to  Rupert's  heart  like 
an  arrow.  Dolly  moved  on,  and  he  followed,  not 
looking  at  the  gladiator's  shields  or  Greek  armour. 

"Then,  Miss  Dolly,"  he  burst  out,  after  his 
thoughts  had  been  seething  a  little  while, — "if  this 
world  is  so  little  count,  what's  the  use  of  anything 
that  men  do  ?  what's  the  good  of  studying — or  of 
working — or  of  coming  to  look  at  these  old  things? 
— or  of  doing  anything  else,  but  just  religion  ?  " 

Dolly's  eyes  sparkled,  but  she  laughed  a  little. 

"You  cannot  'do'  religion  that  way,  Rupert,"  she 
said.  "The  old  monks  made  a  mistake.  What  is 
the  use  ?  Why,  if  you  are  going  to  be  a  servant 
of  Christ  and  spend  your  life  in  working  for  him, 
won't  you  be  the  very  best  and  most  beautiful  ser- 
vant you  can?  Do  you  think  a  savage  has  as 


NAPLES.  493 

much  power  or  influence  in  the  world  as  an  edu- 
cated, accomplished,  refined  man?  Would  he  do 
as  much,  or  do  it  as  well?  If  you  are  going  to 
give  yourself  to  Christ,  won't  you  make  the  offer- 
ing as  valuable  and  as  honourable  as  you  can? 
That  is  what  you  would  do  if  you  were  giving 
yourself  to  a  Avoman,  Rupert.  I  know  you  would." 

Rupert  had  no  chance  to  answer,  for  strangers 
drew  near,  and  Dolly  and  he  passed  on.  Perhaps 
he  did  not  wish  to  answer. 

There  were  other  times  when  Dolly  visited  the 
museum  with  her  father.  Then  she  studied  the 
frescoes  from  Pompeii,  the  marble  sculptures,  or 
sat  before  some  few  of  the  pictures  in  the  collec- 
tions of  the  old  masters.  Mr.  Copley  was  patient, 
admiring  her  if  he  admired  nothing  else ;  but  even 
he  did  admire  and  enjoy  some  of  the  works  of  art 
in  which  the  museum  is  so  rich ;  and  one  day  he 
and  Dolly  had  a  rare  bit  of  talk  over  the  collec- 
tion of  ancient  glass.  Such  hours  made  Dolly 
only  the  more  grieved  and  distressed  when  she 
afterwards  perceived  thart  her  father  had  been  sol- 
acing himself  with  other  and  very  much  lower 
pleasures. 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

SORRENTO. 

IT  was  not  till  the  end  of  May  that  they  got  away 
from  Naples.  Mrs.  Copley  was  long  tired  of 
her  stay  there,  and  even,  she  said,  tired  of  the  bay ! 
Dolly  was  glad  to  have  her  father  at  a  distance 
from  hotels  and  acquaintances,  even  though  but 
for  a  time;  and  the  gentlemen  liked  moving,  as 
men  always  do.  So  the  little  party  in  the  car- 
riage were  in  very  good  spirits  and  harmony. 
Rupert  had  gone  on  before  with  the  luggage,  to 
make  sure  that  all  was  right  about  the  rooms  and 
everything  ready.  They  were  engaged  in  the 
house  to  which  Lady  Brierley's  housekeeper  had 
given  them  the  address. 

The  day  was 'one  of  those  which  travellers  tell 
us  of  in  the  south  of  Italy,  when  spring  is  in  its 
glory  or  passing  into  summer.  In  truth  the 
weather  was  very  warm ;  but  Dolly  at  least  never 
regarded  that,  in  her  delight  at  the  views  pre- 
sented to  her.  After  Castellamare  was  passed, 
and  as  the  afternoon  wore  on,  her  interest  grew 
with  every  step.  Villages  and  towns,  rocks  and 
trees,  were  steeped  in  a  wonderful  golden  light; 


SORRENTO.  495 

vineyards  and  olive  groves  were  etherialised ;  and 
when  they  drew  near  to  Meta,  and  the  plain  of 
Sorrento  opened  before  them,  Dolly  hung  out  of 
the  carriage  almost  breathless. 

"  Is  it  better  than  the  bay  of  Naples  ? "  asked 
Lawrence  smiling. 

"  I  am  not  comparing,"  said  Dolly.  "  But  look 
at  the  trees!  Did  you  ever  see  such  beautiful 
woods  ?  " 

"  Hardly  woods,  are  they  ? "  said  Lawrence. 
"There's  variety,  certainly." 

"  Said  to  be  a  very  healthy  place,"  remarked  Mr. 
Copley.  "  I  envy  you,  Dolly.  You  can  get  pleas- 
ure out  of  a  stick,  if  it  has  leaves  on  it.  Naturally, 
the  plain  of  Sorrento — But  this  sun,  I  confess, 
makes  me  wish  for  the  journey's  end." 

"  That  is  not  far  off.  father.  Yonder  is  Sor- 
rento." 

And  soon  the  carriage  rolled  into  the  town,  and 
turning  then  aside  brought  them  to  a  house  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  place,  situated  on  a  rocky 
cliff  overhanging  the  shore  of  the  sea.  Eupert 
met  them  at  the  gate,  and  announced  a  neat 
house,  civil  people,  comfortable  lodgings,  and  din- 
ner getting  ready. 

"  I  only  hope  they  will  not  give  us  maccaroni 
with  tomatoes,"  said  Mrs.  Copley.  "  I  am  so  tired 
of  seeing  maccaroni  with  tomatoes." 

"  Don't  mind  for  to-day,  mother  dear,"  said  Dol- 
ly. "  We'll  have  it  all  right  to-morrow." ' 

The  rooms  were  found  so  pleasant,  bright  and 


496  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

clean,  that  even  Mrs.  Copley  was  satisfied.  The 
dinner,  which  was  ready  for  them  as  soon  as  they 
were  ready  for  it,  proved  also  excellent;  with 
plenty  of  fresh  vegetables  and  fruit.  Till  the 
meal  was  over,  Dolly  had  scarce  a  chance  to  see 
where  she  was;  but  then  she  left  the  others  at  the 
table  and  went  out  at  the  open  glass  door  upon  a 
piazza  which  extended  all  along  the  sea  front  of 
the  house.  Here  she  stood  still  and  cried  to  the 
others  to  follow  her.  The  house  was  built,  as  I 
said,  like  many  houses  in  Sorrento,  on  the  edge  of 
a  rocky  cliff,  from  which  there  was  fair  unhindered 
view  over  the  whole  panorama  of  sea  and  land. 
The  sun  was  descending  the  western  sky,  and  the 
flood  of  Italian  light  seemed  to  transfigure  the 
world.  Between  the  verandah  and  the  absolute 
edge  of  the  rocks,  the  space  was  filled  with  beds 
of  flowers  and  shrubbery;  and  a  little  a  one  side, 
so  as  not  to  interrupt  the  view,  were  fig  trees  and 
pomegranate  trees  and  olives.  Dolly  ran  down 
the  steps  into  the  garden,  and  the  rest  of  the 
party  could  not  but  come  after  her.  Dolly's  face 
was  flushed  with  delight. 

"  Did  anybody  ever  see  such  colours  before  ?  " 
she  cried.  "0,  the  colours!  Look  at  the  blue  of 
the  water,  down  there  in  the  shade;  and  then  see 
that  delicious  green  beyond,  set  off  by  its  fringe 
of  white  foam ;  and  then  where  the  sun  strikes,  and 
where  the  clouds  are  reflected — ' 

"  It  is  just  what  you  have  been  seeing  in  the 
bay  of  Naples,"  said  Mrs.  Copley. 


SORRENTO.  497 

"  And  Vesuvius,  mother !  Do  look  at  Vesuvius ; 
how  noble  it  is  from  here,  and  in  this  light." 

"  We  had  Vesuvius  at  Naples  too,"  said  Mrs. 
Copley.  "It  is  a  wonder  to  me  how  people  can 
be  so  fond  of  being  near  it,  when  you  never  know 
what  tricks  it  will  play  you." 

"Mother  dear,  the  lava  never  comes  so  far  as 
this,  in  the  worst  eruptions." 

"The  fact  that  it  never  did,  does  not  prove  what 
it  may  do  some  time." 

"You  are  not  afraid  of  it,  surely?"  said  Mr. 
Copley. 

"  No,"  said  his  wife.  "  But  I  have  no  pleasure 
in  looking  at  anything  that  has  done,  and  is  going 
to  do,  so  much  mischief.  It  seems  to  me  a  kind 
of  monster." 

"You  cannot  be  fond  of  the  sea,  at  that  rate, 
Mrs.  Copley,"  Lawrence  observed. 

"  No,  you  are  right,"  she  said.  "  The  only  thing 
I  like  about  it  is,  that  it  is  the  way  home." 

"You  don't  want  to  see  the  way  home  just  now, 
my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Copley.  "  You  have  but  now 
got  to  the  place  of  your  desires." 

"  If  you  ask  me  what  that  is,  it  is  Boston,"  said 
Mrs.  Copley. 

But  however,  for  a  while  she  did  take  satisfac- 
tion in  the  quiet  and  beauty  and  sweet  air  of  Sor- 
rento. Dolly  revelled  in  it  all.  She  was  devoted 
to  her  mother  and  her  mother's  pleasure,  it  is  true ; 
and  here  as  at  Borne  and  Naples  she  was  thus  kept 
a  good  deal  in  the  house.  Nevertheless  here,  at 
32 


498  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

Sorrento,  she  tempted  her  mother  to  go  out.  A 
little  carriage  was  procured  to  take  her  to  the 
edge  of  one  of  the  ravines  which  on  three  sides 
enclose  the  town;  and  then  Dolly  and  her  mother, 
with  Rupert's  help,  would  wind  their  way  down 
amid  the  wilderness  of  lovely  vegetation  with 
which  the  sides  and  bottom  of  the  ravine  were 
grown.  At  the  bottom  of  the  dell  they  would 
provide  Mrs.  Copley  with  a  soft  bed  of  moss  or  a 
convenient  stone  to  rest  upon ;  while  the  younger 
people  roved  all  about,  gathering  flowers,  or  find- 
ing something  for  Dolly  to  sketch,  and  coming 
back  ever  and  anon  to  Mrs.  Copley  to  shew  what 
they  had  found  or  tell  what  they  had  seen;  and 
Mrs.  Copley  for  the  time  forgot  her  ills,  and  even 
forgot  Boston,  and  was  amused,  and  enjoyed  the 
warm  air  and  the  luxuriant  and  sweet  nature  of 
Italy.  Sometimes  Lawrence  came  instead  of  Ru- 
pert; and  Dolly  did  not  enjoy  herself  so  well.  But 
Lawrence  was  at  his  own  risk  now;  she  could  not 
take  care  of  him.  Except  by  maintaining  her 
calm,  careless,  disengaged  manner;  and  that  she 
did.  There  were  other  times  when  Dolly  and 
Rupert  went  out  in  a  boat  on  the  sea.  Steps  in 
the  rock  led  immediately  down  from  the  garden  to 
the  shore;  on  the  shore  were  fishermen's  huts,  and 
a  boat  was  always  to  be  had.  Long  expeditions 
by  water  could  not  be  undertaken,  for  Mrs.  Copley 
could  not  be  tempted  out  on  the  sea  and  she  might 
not  be  long  left  alone ;  but  there  were  lovely  hours, 
when  Rupert  rowed  the  boat  over  the  golden  and 


SORRENTO.  491) 

purple  waves,  when  all  the  air  seemed  rosy  and  all 
the  sea  enamelled,  and  the  sky  and  the  clouds  (as 
Rupert  said)  were  as  if  they  had  come  out  of  a 
fairybook;  every  colour  was  floating  there  and 
sending  down  a  paradise  of  broken  rainbows  upon 
water  and  land  and  the  heads  of  the  two  pleasure- 
takers. 

But  even  at  Sorrento  there  was  a  shadow  over 
Dolly. 

For  the  first  weeks  the  gentlemen,  that  is  Mr. 
Copley  and  his  supposed  secretary,  made  numer- 
ous excursions.  Mrs.  Copley  utterly  declined  to 
take  part  in  anything  that  could  be  called  an  ex- 
cursion; and  Dolly  would  not  go  without  her. 
Lawrence  and  Mr.  Copley  therefore  went  whither 
they  would  alone,  and  saw  everything  that  could 
be  seen  within  two  or  three  days  of  Sorrento;  for 
they  were  gone  sometimes  as  long  as  that.  They 
took  provisions  with  them ;  and  Dolly  sadly  feared, 
nay  she  knew,  that  wines  formed  a  large  part  of 
their  travelling  stock  011  these  occasions;  she 
feared,  even,  no  small  part  of  the  attraction  of 
them.  Mr.  Copley  generally  came  back  not  ex- 
actly the  same  as  when  he  went;  there  was  an  in- 
describable look  arid  air  which  made  Dolly's  heart 
turn  cold;  a  disreputable  air  of  license,  as  if  he 
had  been  indulging  himself  in  spite  of  strong 
pledges  given,  and  in  disregard  of  gentle  influ- 
ences that  were  trying  to  deter  him.  And  when 
he  had  not  been  on  excursions,  Dolly  often  knew 
that  he  had  found  his  favourite  beverage  some- 


500  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

where  and  was  a  trifle  the  worse  for  it.  What 
could  she  do  ?  she  asked  herself  with  a  feeling  al- 
most of  desperation.  She  had  done  all  she  knew ; 
what  remained  ?  Her  father  was  well  aware  how 
she  felt.  Yet  no !  not  that.  He  could  not  have 
the  faintest  conception  of  the  torture  he  gave  his 
daughter  by  making  her  ashamed  of  him,  nor  of 
the  fearful  dread  which  lay  .upon  her  of  what  his 
habit  of  indulgence  might  end  in.  If  he  had,  Mr. 
Copley  could  not,  at  this  stage  of  things  at  least, 
have  borne  it.  He  must  have  yielded  up  anything 
or  borne  anything,  rather  than  that  she  should 
bear  this.  But  he  was  a  man,  and  could  not  guess 
it;  if  he  had  been  told,  he  would  not  have  under- 
stood it;  so  he  had  his  pleasure,  and  his  child's 
heart  was  torn  with  sorrow  and  shame. 

There  came  a  day  at  last  when  in  their  lodgings 
Mr.  Copley  called  for  a  bottle  of  wine  at  dinner. 
Dolly's  heart  gave  a  great  jump. 

"  0  father,  we  do  not  want  wine ! "  she  cried 
pleadingly. 

"I  do,"  said  Mr.  Copley,  "and  St.  Leger  does. 
Nonsense,  my  dear!  no  gentleman  takes  his  din- 
ner without  his  wine.  Isn't  it  so,  Lawrence  ?  " 

And  the  wine  was  brought,  and  the  two  gentle- 
men helped  themselves.  Mrs.  Copley  accepted  a 
little;  Rupert, — Dolly  looked  to  see  what  he  would 
do, — Rupert  quietly  put  it  by. 

So  it  had  come  to  this  again.  Not  all  her 
prayers  and  tears  and  known  wishes  could  hold 
her  father  back  from  his  desire.  The  desire  must 


SORRENTO.  501 

already  be  very  strong !  Dolly  kept  her  compos- 
ure with  difficulty.  She  eat  no  more  dinner.  And 
it  was  a  relief  to  thoughts  she  could  scarcely  bear, 
when  Eupert  in  the  evening  asked  her  to  go  out 
and  take  a  row  on  the  water. 

Such  an  evening  as  it  was !  Dolly  ran  gladly 
down  the  rocky  steps  which  led  to  the  shore, 
and  eagerly  followed  Rupert  into  the  boat.  She 
thought  to  escape  from  her  trouble  for  a  while. 
Instead  of  that,  when  the  boat  got  away  from  the 
shore,  and  Dolly  was  floating  on  the  crimson  and 
purple  sea,  with  a  flush  of  crimson  and  purple  sent 
down  upon  her  from  the  clouds,  and  everything  in 
the  world  glowing  with  colour  or  tipped  with 
gold, — her  face  as  she  gazed  into  the  glory  took 
such  an  expression  of  wan  despair,  that  Rupert 
forgot  where  he  was.  Greatly  he  longed  to  say 
something  to  break  up  that  look;  and  could  not 
find  the  words.  The  beauty  and  the  peace  of  the 
external  world  wrought,  as  it  sometimes  does,  by 
the  power  of  contrast ;  and  had  set  Dolly  to  think- 
ing of  her  father  and  of  his  and  her  very  doubtful 
future.  What  would  become  of  him  if  his  present 
manner  of  life  went  on  ? — and  what  would  become 
of  his  wife  and  of  her  ?  What  could  she  do,  more 
than  she  had  done,  in  vain  ?  Dolly  tried  to  think, 
and  could  not  find.  Suddenly,  by  some  sweet  as- 
sociation of  rays  of  light,  there  came  into  her  mind 
the  night  before  Christmas,  and  the  moonshine  in 
Christina's  room,  and  the  words  that  were  so  good 
to  her  then.  "  Who  shall  separate  us  from  the 


502  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

love  of  Christ  ? "  Yes,  thought  Dolly, — that  is 
sure.  Nothing  can  come  between.  Nothing  can 
take  that  joy  from  me;  "neither  death  nor  life;  nor 
things  present,  nor  things  to  come."  But  0!  I 
wish  my  father  and  mother  had  it  too ! — With  that 
came  a  rush  of  tears  to  her  eyes;  she  turned  her 
face  away  from  Eupert  so  that  he  might  not  see 
them.  Had  she  done  anything,  made  any  efforts, 
to  bring  them  to  that  .knowledge?  With  her 
mother,  yes;  with  her  father,  no.  It  had  seemed 
hopelessly  difficult.  How  could  she  set  about  it? 
— As  she  pondered  this  question,  Eupert  saw  that 
the  expression  of  her  face  had  changed,  and  now 
he  ventured  to  speak. 

"  Miss  Dolly,  you  set  me  a  thinking  in  Eome." 

"  Did  I  ? "  said  Dolly  brightening.  "  About 
what  ?  " 

"And  in  Naples  you  drove  the  nail  further 
in." 

"  What  nail  ?  what  are  you  talking  about,  Eu- 
pert ?  " 

"  Do  you  remember  what  you  said  when  we 
were  coming  from  the  Capitoline  Museum?  We 
were  looking  at  the  Colosseum" — 

"  I  do  not  recollect." 

"  I  do.  You  drove  the  nail  in  then ;  and  when 
we  were  in  Naples,  at  the  museum  there,  you  gave 
it  another  hit.  It's  in  now." 

Dolly  could  not  help  laughing. 

"  You  are  quite  a  riddle,  Eupert.  I  make  noth- 
ing of  it." 


SORRENTO.  503 

"Miss  Dolly,  I've  been  thinking  that  I  will  go 
home." 

"  Home  ? "  And  Dolly's  face  now  grew  very 
grave  indeed. 

"Yes.  I've  been  splitting  my  head  thinking; 
and  I've  about  made  up  my  mind.  I  think  I'll  go 
home."  Kupert  was  very  serious  too,  and  pulled 
the  oars  with  a  leisurely,  mechanical  stroke,  which 
shewed  he  was  not  thinking  of  them. 

"  What  home  ?     London,  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Well,  not  exactly.  I  should  think  not !  No,  I 
mean  Boston,  or  Lynn  rather.  There's  my  old 
mother." 

"  Oh ! — your  mother," — said  Dolly  slowly.  "  And 
she  is  at  Lynn.  Is  she  alcme  there  ?  " 

"She's  been  alone  ever  since  I  left  her;  and  I'm 
thinking,  that's  what  she  hadn't  ought  to  be." 

Dolly  paused.  The  indication  seemed  to  be,  that 
Eupert  was  taking  up  the  notion  of  duty ;  duty  tow- 
ards others  as  well  as  pleasure  for  himself;  and  a 
great  throb  of  gladness  came  up  in  her  heart,  along 
with  the  sudden  shadow  of  what  was  not  gladness. 

"  I  think  you  are  quite  right,  Rupert,"  she  said 
soberly.  "  Then  you  are  purposing  to  go  back  to 
Lynn  to  take  care  of  her  ?  " 

"  I  set  out  to  see  the  world  and  to  be  something," 
Rupert  went  on,  looking  thoughtfully  out  to  sea; 
— "and  I've  done  one  o'  the  two.  I've  seen  the 
world.  I  don'  know  as  I  should  ever  be  any- 
thing, if  I  staid  in  it.  But  your  talk  that  day—- 
those days — wouldn't  go  out  of  my  head;  and  I 


504  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

thought  I'd  give  it  up,  and  go  home  to  my  old 
mother." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I  think,  Rupert,"  said  Dolly ; 
"a  man  is  a  great  deal  more  likely  to  come  out 
right  in  the  end  and  '  be  something,'  if  he  follows 
God's  plan  for  him,  than  if  he  makes  a  plan  for 
himself.  Anyhow,  I'd  rather  have  that  'Well 
done,'  by  and  by —  '  She  stopped. 

"  How's  a  man  to  find  out  God's  plan  for  him?  " 

"Just  the  way  you  are  doing.  When  work  is 
set  before  you,  take  hold  of  it.  When  the  Lord 
has  some  more  for  you,  he'll  let  you  know." 

"  Then  you  think  this  is  my  work,  Miss  Dolly  ? 
to  go  home  and  take  care  of  her?  She  wanted 
me  to  make  a  man  of  myself;  and  when  Mr.  Cop- 
ley made  me  his  offer,  she  didn't  hold  me  back. 
But  she  cried  some  !  " 

"  You  cannot  do  another  so  manly  a  thing  as 
this,  Rupert.  I  wouldn't  let  her  cry  any  more,  if  I 
were  you." 

"No  more  I  ain't  a  goin'  to,"  said  the  young  man 
energetically.  "But,  Miss  Dolly — " 

"What?" 

"  Do  you  think  it  is  my  duty,  because  I  do  one 
thing,  to  do  t'other?  Do  you  think  I  ought  to  take 
to  shoemaking  ?  " 

"  Why  to  shoemaking,  Rupert  ?  " 

"  Well,  my  father  was  a  shoemaker.  They're  all 
shoemakers  at  Lynn,  pretty  much." 

"  That  is  no  reason  why  you  should  be.  Your 
education,  the  education  you  have  got  since  you 


SORRENTO.  505 

came  over  to  this  side,  has  fitted  you  for  something 
else,  if  you  like  something  else  better." 

"  That's  just  what  I  do !  "  said  Rupert  with  em- 
phasis. "  But  I  could  make  a  good  living  that 
way — I  was  brought  up  to  it,  you  see; — and  I 
s'pose  shed  like  me  to  take  up  the  old  business; 
but  I  feel  like  driving  an  awl  through  a  board 
whenever  I  think  of  it." 

"I  wouldn't  do  it,  Rupert,  if  I  could  do  some- 
thing I  was  more  fit  for.  People  always  do  things 
best  that  they  like  to  do.  I  think  the  choice  of  a 
business  is  your  affair.  Do  what  you  can  do  best. 
But  I'd  make  shoes  rather  than  do  nothing." 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  am  fit  for,"  said  Rupert 
evidently  relieved,  "but — 0  yes,  I  would  cobble 
shoes  rather  than  do  nothing.  I  don't  want  to  eat 
idle  bread. — Then  I'll  go." 

"  Your  experience  here,  in  London  and  on  this 
journey,  will  not  have  been  lost  to  you,"  Dolly 
observed. 

"  It's  been  the  best  thing  ever  happened  to  me, 
this  journey,"  said  the  young  man.  "  And  you've 
done  me  more  good,  Miss  Dolly,  than  anybody  in 
this  world, — if  it  ain't  my  mother." 

"I?  I  am  very  glad.  I  am  sure  you  have  done 
a  great  deal  for  me,  Rupert." 

"  You  have  put  me  upon  thinking.  And  till  a 
fellow  begins  to  think,  he  ain't  much  more  good 
than  a  cabbage." 

"  When  will  you  go,  Rupert  ?  I  wish  we  were 
going  too ! " 


506  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"Well,  I  guess  my  old  mother  has  sat  lookin' 
for  me  long  enough.  I  guess  I'll  start  pretty 
soon." 

"Will  you!"  said  Dolly.  "But  not  before  we 
have  made  our  visit  to  Mrs.  Thayer's  villa.  We 
are  going  there  next  week." 

"  I'll  start  then,  I  guess." 

"  And  not  go  with  us  to  the  Thayers'?  " 

"  I  guess  not." 

"  Didn't  they  invite  you  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it !  Took  good  care  not,  I  should 
say." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"Well,  Miss  Dolly,  Mrs.  Thayer  was  standing 
two  feet  from  me  and  asking  Mr.  St.  Leger,  and 
she  didn't  look  my  way  till  she  had  got  through 
and  was  talking  of  something  else;  and  then  she 
looked  as  if  I  had  been  a  pane  of  glass  and  she 
was  seeing  something  on  the  other  side — as  I  sup- 
pose she  was." 

Dolly  was  silent  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  she 
said,  "  How  I  shall  miss  you,  Kupert !  " — and  tears 
were  near,  though  she  would  not  let  them  come. 

And  Rupert  made  no  answer  at  all,  but  rowed 
the  boat  in. 

Yes,  Dolly  knew  she  would  miss  him  sadly.  He 
had  been  her  helper  and  standby  and  agent  and 
escort  and  friend,  in  many  a  place  now,  and  on 
many  an  occasion.  He  had  done  for  her  what 
there  was  no  one  else  to  do,  ever  since  that  first 
evening  when  he  had  made  his  appearance  at 


SORRENTO.  507 

Brierley  and  she  had  wished  him  away.  So  little 
do  people  recognize  their  blessings  often  at  first 
sight.  Now, — Dolly  pondered  as  she  climbed  the 
cliff, — how  would  she  get  along  without  Kupert  ? 
How  long  would  her  father  even  be  content  to 
abide  with  her  mother  and  her  in  their  quiet  way 
of  living  ?  she  had  seen  symptoms  of  restlessness 
already.  What  should  she  do  if  he  became  im- 
patient? if  he  left  them  to  St.  Leger's  care  and 
went  back  to  London  ?  or  if  he  carried  them  off 
with  him  perhaps  ?  To  London  again  !  And  then 
afresh  came  the  former  question,  what  was  there 
in  her  power,  that  might  draw  her  father  to  take 
deeper  and  truer  views  of  life  and  duty  than  he 
was  taking  now?  A  question  that  greatly  both- 
ered Dolly;  for  there  was  dimly  looming  up  in  the 
distance  an  answer  that  she  did  not  like.  To  at- 
tack her  father  in  private  on  the  subject  of  religion, 
was  a  step  that  Dolly  thought  very  hopeless;  he 
simply  would  not  hear  her.  But  there  was  another 
thing  she  could  do — could  she  do  it?  Persuade 
her  father  and  mother  to  consent  to  have  family 
prayer?  Dolly's  heart  beat  and  her  breath  came 
quick  as  she  passed  through  the  little  garden,  sweet 
with  roses  and  oleander  and  orange,blossoms.  How 
sweet  the  flowers  were !  how  heavenly  fair  the  sky 
over  her  head  !  So  it  ought  to  be  in  people's  hearts, 
thought  Dolly; — so  in  mine.  And  if  it  were,  I 
should  not  be  afraid  of  anything  that  was  right 
to  do.  And  this  is  right  to  do. 

Dolly  avoided  the  saloon  where  the  rest  of  the 


508  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

family  were,  and  betook  herself  to  her  own  room ; 
to  consider  and  to  pray  over  her  difficulties,  and 
also  to  get  rid  of  a  few  tears  and  bring  her  face 
into  its  usual  cheerful  order.  When  at  last  she 
went  down,  she  found  her  mother  alone,  but  her 
father  almost  immediately  joined  them.  The  win- 
dows were  open  towards  the  sea,  the  warm  delicious 
air  stole  in  caressingly,  the  scent  of  roses  and 
orange  blossoms  and  carnations  filled  the  house 
and  seemed  to  fill  the  world;  moonlight  trembled 
on  the  leaves  of  the  fig  tree,  and  sent  lines  of  silver 
light  into  the  room.  The  lamp  was  lowered  and 
Mrs.  Copley  sat  doing  nothing,  in  a  position  of  sat- 
isfied enjoyment  by  the  window. 

As  Dolly  came  in  by  one  door,  Mr.  Copley  entered 
by  another,  and  flung  himself  down  on  a  chair ;  his 
action  speaking  neither  enjoyment  nor  satisfaction. 

"  Well !  "  said  he.  "  How  much  longer  do  you 
think  you  can  stand  this  sort  of  thing  ?  " 

"  What  sort  of  thing,  father  ?  " 

"  Do  you  sit  in  the  dark  usually  ?  " 

"  Come  here,  father,"  said  Dolly,  "  come  to  the 
window  and  see  the  moonshine  on  the  sea.  Do 
you  call  that  dark  ?  " 

"  Your  father  never  cared  for  moonshine,  Dolly," 
said  Mrs.  Copley. 

"  No,  that's  true,"  said  Mr.  Copley  with  a  short 
laugh.  "  Haven't  you  got  almost  enough  of  it  ?  " 

"  Of  moonshine,  father  ?  " 

"  Yes — on  the  bay  of  Sorrento.  It's  a  lazy 
place." 


SORRENTO.  509 

"  You  have  not  been  very  lazy  since  you  have 
been  here,"  said  his  wife. 

"  Well,  I  have  seen  all  there  is  to  be  seen ;  and 
now  I  am  ready  for  something  else.  Aren't  you  ?  " 

"  But  father,"  said  Dolly,  "  I  suppose,  just  be- 
cause Sorrento  is  what  you  call  a  lazy  place,  it  is 
good  for  mother." 

"  Change  is  good  for  her  too— hey,  wife  ?  " 

"  You  will  have  a  change  next  week,  father, 
You  know  we  are  going  for  that  visit  to  the 
Thayer's." 

"  We  shall  not  want  to  stay  there  long,"  said  Mr. 
Copley;  "and  then  we'll  move." 

Nobody  answered.  Dolly  looked  out  sorrowfully 
upon  the  beautiful  bright  water.  Sorrento  had 
been  a  place  of  peace  to  her.  Must  she  go  so  soon  ? 
The  scent  of  myrtles  and  roses  and  oranges  came 
in  bewilderingly  at  the  open  window,  pleading  the 
cause  of  "  lazy "  Sorrento  with  wonderfully  per- 
suasive flatteries.  Was  there  any  other  place  in 
the  world  so  sweet?  Dolly  clung  to  it,  in  heart; 
yearned  towards  it;  the  glories  of  the  southern 
sun  were  what  she  had  never  imagined,  and  she 
longed  to  stay  to  enjoy  and  wonder  at  them.  The 
fruits,  the  flowers,  the  sunny  air,  the  fulness  and 
variedness  of  the  colouring  on  land  arid  sea,  the 
leisure  and  luxury  of  bountiful  nature, — Dolly  was 
loath,  loath  to  leave  them  all.  No  other  Sorrento, 
she  was  ready  to  believe,  would  ever  reveal  itself 
to  her  vision;  and  she  shrank  a  little  from  the 
somewhat  rough  way  she  had  been  travelling 


510  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

before  and  must  travel  again.  And  now,  in  the 
further  way,  Kupert,  her  helper  and  standby,  would 
not  be  with  her.  Then  again  came  the  Words  of 
Christmas  eve  to  her — "  Who  shall  separate  us  from 
the  love  of  Christ  ?  " — and  with  the  words  came  the 
recollection  of  the  new  bit  of  service  Dolly  had 
found  to  do  in  her  return  and  answer  to  that  love. 
Yet  she  hesitated,  and  her  heart  began  to  beat 
faster,  and  she  made  no  move,  until  her  father  be- 
gan to  ask  if  it  were  not  time  to  leave  the  moon- 
light and  go  to  bed.  Dolly  came  from  the  window 
then  to  the  table  where  the  lowered  lamp  stood. 

"Mother  and  father,  I  should  like  to  do  some- 
thing," she  said  with  an  interrupted  breath. 
"Would  you  mind  —  may  I  —  will  you  let  me 
read  a  chapter  to  you  before  we  go?" 

"A  chapter  of  what?"  said  her  father;  though 
he  knew  well  enough. 

"The  Bible." 

There  was  a  pause.  Mrs.  Copley  stirred  un- 
easily, but  left  the  answer  for  her  husband  to 
give.  It  came  at  last,  coldly. 

"There  is  no  need  for  you  to  give  yourself  that 
trouble,  my  dear.  I  suppose  we  can  all  read  the 
Bible  for  ourselves." 

"  But  not  as  a  family,  father?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Dolly  ?  " 

"  Father,  don't  you  think  we  ought  together,  as 
a  family, — don't  you  think  we  ought  to  read  the 
Bible  together  ?  It  concerns  us  all." 

"  It's  very  kind  of  you,  my  daughter;  but  I  ap- 


SORRENTO.  511 

prove  of  everybody  managing  his  own  affairs,"  Mr. 
Copley  said,  as  he  rose  and  lounged,  perhaps  with 
affected  carelessness,  out  of  the  room.  Dolly  stood 
a  moment. 

"  May  I  read  to  you,  mother  ?  " 

"If  you  like,"  said  Mrs.  Copley  nervously; 
"though  I  don't  see,  as  your  father  says,  why 
we  cannot  every  one  read  for  ourselves.  Why 
did  you  say  that  to  your  father,  Dolly  ?  He  didn't 
like  it." 

Dolly  made  no  reply.  She  knelt  down  by  the 
low  table  to  bring  her  Bible  near  the  light,  and 
read  a  psalm,  her  voice  quivering  a  little.  She 
wanted  comfort  for  herself,  and  half  unconsciously 
she  chose  the  twenty  seventh  psalm. 

"  '  The  Lord  is  my  light  and  my  salvation ;  whom 
shall  I  fear  ?  The  Lord  is  the  strength  of  my  life ; 
of  whom  shall  I  be  afraid  ?  ' " — 

Her  voice  grew  steady  as  she  went  on;  but 
when  she  ha<?  finished,  her  mother  was  crying. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

AT  THE  VILLA. 

THE  place  inhabited  by  the  Thayers  was  a  regu- 
lar Italian  villa.  It  had  not  been  at  all  in 
order  that  suited  English  notions  of  comfort,  or 
American  either,  when  they  moved  in;  but  they 
had  painted  arid  matted  and  furnished,  and  filled 
the  'rooms  with  pretty  things,  pictures  and  statues 
and  vases  and  flowers;  till  it  looked  now  quite 
beautiful  and  festive.  Its  situation  was  perfect. 
The  house  stood  high,  on  the  shore  overlooking 
the  sea,  with  a  full  view  of  Vesuvius;  and  it  was 
surrounded  with  a  paradise  of  orange  trees,  fig 
trees,  pomegranates,  olives,  oaks  and  oleanders, 
with  roses  and  a  multitude  of  other  flowers ;  in  a 
wealth  of  sweetness  and  luxuriance  of  growth  that 
northern  climes  know  nothing  of.  The  reception 
the  visitors  met  with  was  joyous. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  are  come !  "  cried  Christina, 
as  she  carried  off  Dolly  through  the  hall  to  her 
particular  room.  "That  bad  boy  Sandie  has  not 
reported  yet;  but-  he  will  come;  and  then  we 
will  go  everywhere.  Have  you  been  everywhere 
already  ?  " 


AT  THE  VILLA.  513 

"  I  have  been  nowhere.  I  have  staid  with  moth- 
er, and  she  wanted  to  be  quiet." 

"Well,  she  can  be  quiet  now  with  my  mother; 
they  can  take  care  of  each  other.  And  you  have 
not  been  to  Capri  ?  " 

"No." 

"Just  think  of  it !  How  delightful !  You  have 
not  seen  the  Grotta  azzurra?" 

"  I  have  seen  nothing." 

"  Nor  the  grotto  of  the  Sirens  ?  You  have  seen 
that  ?  It  was  so  near." 

"No,  I  have  not.  I  have  been  nowhere;  only 
with  mother  to  gather  ferns  and  flowers  in  the  dells 
around  Sorrento.  We  used  to  take  mother  in  a 
donkey  cart — a  calessino — to  the  edge  of  the  side 
of  the  dell,  and  then  help  her  down,  and  get  loads 
of  flowers  and  ferns.  It  was  very  pleasant." 

"  I  wish  Sandie  would  only  come — the  tiresome 
fellow !  There's  no  counting  on  him.  But  he  will 
come.  He  said  he  would  if  he  could,  jand  he  can 
of  course.  I  suppose  you  have  not  visited  Psestum 
yet  then  ?  " 

"  I  believe  father  went  there.     We  did  not." 

"Nor  we,  yet.  I  don't  care  so  much — only  I 
like  to  keep  going — but  father  is  crazy  to  see  the 
ruins.  You  know  the  ruins  are  wonderful.  Do 
you  care  for  ruins  ?  " 

"  I  believe  I  do,"  said  Dolly  smiling, — "  when 
the  ruins  are  of  something  beautiful.  And  those 
Greek  temples — O  I  should  like  to  see  them." 

"  I  would  rather  see  beautiful  things  when  they 
33 


514  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

are  perfect ;  not  in  ruins ;  ruins  are  sad,  don't  you 
think  so  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  they  ought  to  be,"  said  Dolly,  laugh- 
ing now.  "  But  somehow,  Christina,  I  believe  the 
ruins  give  me  more  pleasure  than  if  they  were  all 
new  and  perfect — or  even  old  and  perfect.  It  is  a 
perverse  taste,  I  suppose,  but  I  do." 

"Why?     They  are  not  so  handsome  in  ruins." 

"They  are  lovelier." 

"Lovely!  —  for  old  ruins!  I  can  understand 
papa's  enthusiasm;  he's  a  kind  of  antiquity  wor- 
shipper ;  but  you — and  '  lovely ' !  " 

"  And  interesting,  Christina.  Euins  tell  of  so 
much;  they  are  such  grand  books  of  history,  and 
witnesses  for  things  gone  by.  But  beautiful — Oh 
yes,  beautiful  beyond  all  others,  if  you  talk  of 
buildings.  What  is  St.  Peter's,  compared  to  the 
Colosseum  ?  " 

Christina  stared  at  her  friend.  "What  is  St. 
Peter's  ?  A  most  magnificent  work  of  modern  art, 
I  should  say ;  and  you  compare  it  to  a  tumble-down 
old  bit  of  barbarism.  That's  too  like  Saiidie.  Do 
you  and  your  friend  agree  as  harmoniously  as 
Sandie  and  I  ?  We  ought  to  exchange." 

"  I  have  no  '  friend,'  as  you  express  it,"  said 
Dolly,  pulling  her  wayward  curling  locks  into  a 
little  more  order.  "Mr.  St.  Leger  is  nothing  to 
me — if  you  are  speaking  of  him." 

"  I  am  sure,  if  he  told  the  truth,  he  would  not 
say  that  of  you,"  said  Christina,  looking  with  secret 
admiration  at  the  figure  before  her.  It  was  a  rare 


AT  THE  VILLA.  515 

kind  of  beauty,  not  of  the  stereotyped  or  formal 
sort ;  like  one  of  the  dainty  old  vases  of  alabaster, 
elegant  in  form  and  delicate  and  exquisite  in 
chiselling  and  design,  with  a  pure  inner  light 
shewing  through.  That  was  not  the  comparison 
ill  Christina's  mind,  and  indeed  she  made  none; 
but  women's  eyes  are  sometimes  sharp  to  see  fem- 
inine beauty;  and  she  confessed  that  Dolly's  was 
uncommon,  not  merely  in  degree  but  in  kind. 
There  was  nothing  conventional  about  it;  there 
never  had  been ;  her  curling  hair  took  a  wayward 
way  of  its  own;  her  brown  eyes  had  a  look  of 
thoughtfulness  mingled  with  childlike  innocence ; 
they  always  had  it  more  or  less;  now  the  wisdom 
was  more  sweet  and  the  innocence  more  spiritual. 
Her  figure  and  her  manner  were  all  in  harmony, 
wearing  unconscious  grace  and  a  very  simple,  free 
dignity. 

"  We  cannot  go  to  Psestum  at  this  season  of  the 
year,  they  say,"  Christina  began  again,  at  a  dis- 
tance from  her  thoughts; — "  but  one  can  go  to  the 
Punta  di  Campanella  and  Monte  San  Costanzo; 
and  as  soon  as  Sandie  comes,  we  will.  We  will 
wait  a  day  for  him  first. 

Dolly  was  quite  willing  to  wait  for  him;  for, 
to  tell  the  truth,  one  of  her  pleasures  in  the 
thought  of  this  visit  had  been  the  possibility  of 
seeing  Mr,  Shubrick  again.  She  did  not  say  so, 
however;  and  the  two  girls  presently  went  back 
to  the  hall.  This  was  a  luxurious  apartment  oc- 
cupying the  centre  of  the  house;  octagonal,  and 


516  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

open  to  tlie  outer  world  both  at  front  and  back. 
Warm  and  yet  fresh  air  was  playing  through  it; 
the  odours  of  flowers  filled  it;  the  most  commodi- 
ous of  light  chairs  and  settees  furnished  it;  and 
scattered  about  the  wide,  delicious  space  were  the 
various  members  of  the  party.  Mrs.  Thayer  and 
Mrs.  Copley  had  been  sitting  together;  just  now, 
as  the  girls  entered,  Mrs.  Thayer  called  St.  Leger 
to  her. 

"  I  am  delighted  to  see  you  here,  Mr.  St.  Leger," 
she  said  graciously.  "  You  know  your  father  was 
a  very  old  friend  of  mine." 

"That  gives  me  a  sort  of  claim  to  your  present 
kindness,"  said  St.  Leger. 

"You  might  put  in  a  claim  to  kindness  any- 
where," returned  the  lady.  "Don't  you  get  it, 
now,  if  you  tell  the  truth  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  reason  to  complain — in  general," 
said  the  young  man  smiling. 

"  You  are  a  little  like  your  father.  He  was  an- 
other. We  were  great  cronies  when  I  was  a  girl. 
In  fact  he  was  an  old  beau  of  mine.  We  used  to 
see  a  vast  deal  of  each  other; — flirting,  I  suppose 
you  would  call  it;  but  how  are  young  people  to 
get  along  without  flirting?  I  liked  him  very 
much,  for  I  always  had  a  fancy  for  handsome 
men ;  and  if  you  ask  him,  he  will  tell  you  that  I 
was  handsome  too  at  that  time.  0  I  was'!  you 
may  look  at  me  and  be  incredulous ;  but  I  was  a 
belle  in  those  days;  and  I  had  a  great  many  hand- 
some men  around  me,  and  some  not  handsome. 


AT  THE  VILLA.  517 

.  .  .  .  Was  I  English?  No.  You  don't  un- 
derstand how  I  could  have  seen  so  much  of  your 
father.  Well,  never  doubt  a  story  till  you  have 
heard  the  whole  of  it.  I  was  an  American  girl; 
but  my  father  and  mother  were  both  dead,  and  I 
was  sent  to  England,  to  be  brought  up  by  an 
aunt,  who  was  the  nearest  relation  I  had  in  the 
world.  She  had  married  an  Englishman  and  set- 
tled in  England." 

"Then  we  may  claim  you,"  said  Lawrence. 
"To  all  intents  and  purposes  you  are  English." 

"  Might  have  been,"  •  returned  Mrs.  Thayer. 
"The  flirtation  ran  very  high,  I  can  tell  you, 
between  your  father  and  me.  He  was  a  poor 
man  then.  I  understand  he  has  nobly  recovered 
from  that  fault.  Is  it  true?  People  say  he  is 
made  of  gold." 

"  There  is  no  lack  of  the  material  article,"  Law- 
rence admitted. 

"  No.  Well,  the  other  sort  we  know  he  had,  or 
this  would  never  be  true  of  him  now.  I  did  not 
look  so  far  ahead  then.  There  is  no  telling  what 
would  have  happened,  but  for  a  little  thing.  Just 
see  how  things  go.  I  might  have  married  in  Eng- 
land, and  all  my  life  would  have  fygen  different; 
and  then  came  along  Mr.  Thayer.  And  the  way 
I  came  to  know  him  was  this.  A  cousin  of  mine 
in  America  was  going  to  be  married,  and  her 
friend  was  a  friend  of  Mr.  Thayer.  Mr.  Thayer 
was  coming  over  to  England,  and  my  cousin 
charged  him  with  a  little  piece  of  wedding  cake 


51$  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

in  white  paper  to  bring  to  me.  Just  that  little 
white  packet !  and  Mr.  Thayer  brought  it,  and  we 
saw  one  another,  and  the  end  was  I  have  lived 
my  life  on  the  other  side  instead  of  on  this  side." 

"  It's  our  loss,  I  am  sure,"  said  St.  Leger  civilly. 

"You  are  too  polite  to  say  it  is  mine,  but  I 
know  you  think  so.  Perhaps  it  is.  At  any  rate, 
I  was  determined,  and  am  determined,  that  my 
daughter  shall  see  and  choose  for  herself  which 
hemisphere  she  will  live  in.  What  are  you  doing 
in  Italy  ?  " 

"  What  everybody  does  in  Italy — looking  at  the 
old  and  enjoying  the  new." 

"  Ah,  that's  what  it  is ! "  said  Mrs.  Thayer  ap- 
provingly. "That  is  what  one  enjoys.  But  my 
husband  is  one  of  the  other  sort.  We  divide  Italy 
between  us.  He  looks  at  the  marbles,  and  I  eat 
the  pomegranates.  Do  you  like  pomegranates  ? — 
No?  I  delight  in  them,  and  in  everything  else 
fresh  and  new  and  sweet  and  acid.  But  what  I 
want  to  know,  Mr.  St.  Leger,  is — how  come  these 
old  ruins  to  be  so  worth  looking  at  ?  Hasn't  the 
human  race  made  progress  ?  Can't  we  raise  as 
good  buildings  now-a-days,  and  as  good  to  see,  as 
those  old  heathen  did  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  we  can,  when  we  copy  their  work 
exactly." 

"  But  how  is  that  ?  Christians  ought  to  do  bet- 
ter work  than  heathens.  I  do  not  understand  it." 

"  No,"  said  St.  Leger,  "  I  do  not  understand  it." 

"  Old  poetry — that's  what  they  study  so  much 


AT  THE  VILLA.  519 

at  Oxford  and  Cambridge,  and  everywhere  else ; — 
and  old  pictures,  and  old  statues.  I  think  the 
world  ought  to  grow  wiser  as  it  grows  older.  I 
believe  it  is  prejudice.  There's  my  husband  crazy 
to  go  to  Psesturn, — I'm  glad  he  can't;  the  marshes 
or  something  are  so  unhealthy;  but  I'm  going  to 
arrange  for  you  an  expedition  to  the  Punta — 
Punta  di  something — the  toe  of  the  boot,  you 
know;  it's  delightful;  you  go  on  donkeys,  and 
you  have  the  most  charming  views,  and  what  I 
know  you  like  better  than  anything, — the  most 
charming  opportunities  for  flirtation." 

"  It  will  have  to  be  Miss  Thayer  and  I  then," 
said  Lawrence.  "Miss  Copley  does  not  know 
how." 

"  Nonsense !  Don't  tell  me.  Every  girl  does. 
She  has  her  own  way,  I  suppose.  Makes  it  more 
piquant — and  piquing." 

Lawrence  looked  over  towards  the  innocent 
face,  so  innocent  of  anything  false,  he  knew,  or 
even  of  anything  ambiguous;  a  face  of  pure  wom- 
anly nature,  childlike  in  its  naturalness,  although 
womanly  in  its  gravity.  Perhaps  he  drew  a  swift 
comparison  between  a  man's  chances  with  a  face 
of  that  sort,  and  the  counter  advantages  of  Chris- 
tina's more  conventional  beauty.  Mr.  Thayer  had 
sat  down  beside  Dolly  and  was  drawing  her  into 
talk. 

"You  are  fond  of  art,  Miss  Copley.  I  remem- 
ber we  met  you  first  in  the  room  of  the  dying 
gladiator,  in  the  Capitoline  Museum.  But  every- 


520  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

body  has  to  go  to  see  the  dying  gladiator  and  the 
rest." 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  Dolly. 

"  I  remember  though,  I  thought  you  were  en- 
joying it." 

"01  was." 

"  I  can  always  find  out  whether  people  really 
enjoy  things.  How  many  times  did  you  go  to  see 
the  gladiator?  Let  me  see, — you  were  in  Home 
three  months  ?  " 

"Nearer  four." 

"  Four !  Well,  and  how  many  times  did  you  see 
the  gladiator  ?  " 

"I  don't  quite  know.  Half  a  dozen  times,  I 
think.  I  went  until  I  had  got  it  by  heart;  and 
now  I  can  look  at  it  whenever  I  like." 

"  Humph !  "  said  Mr.  Thayer.  "  The  only  thing 
Christina  wanted  to  see  a  second  time  was  the 
mosaics;  and  those  she  did  not  get  by  heart  ex- 
actly, but  brought  them  away,  a  good  many  of 
them,  bodily.  And  have  you  developed  any  taste 
for  architecture  during  your  travels  ?  " 

"  I  take  great  pleasure  in  some  architecture," 
said  Dolly. 

"May  I  ask  what  instances?  I  am  curious  to 
see  how  our  tastes  harmonize." 

"  Ah,  but  I  know  nothing  about  it,"  said  Dolly. 
"I  am  entirely — or  almost  entirely — ignorant;  and 
you  know  and  understand." 

'"Almost  entirely'?"  said  Mr.  Thayer.  "You 
have  studied  the  subject  ?  " 


AT  THE  VILLA.  521 

"  A  little  " — said  Dolly  smiling  and  blushing. 

"Do  favour  me.  I  am  desirous  to  know  what 
you  have  seen  that  particularly  pleased  you." 

"The  cathedral  at  Limburg." 

"  Limburg.  Oh — Ah !  yes — it  was  there  we  first 
met  you.  I  was  thinking  it  was  in  the  museum 
of  the  Capitol.  Limburg.  You  liked  that  ?  " 

"  Very  much !  " 

"  Komanesque — or  rather  Transition." 

"  I  do  not  know  what  Romanesque  is,  or  Transi- 
tion either." 

"  Did  you  notice  the  round  arches  and  the 
pointed  arches  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  remember.  Yes,  I  do  remember  the 
round  arches;  but  I  was  thinking  rather  of  the 
effect  of  the  whole." 

"The  church  at  Limburg  shews  a  mixture  of 
the  round  Romanesque  and  the  pointed  Gothic; 
Gothic  was  preparing;  that  sort  of  thing  belongs 
to  the  first  half  of  the  thirteenth  century.  Well, 
that  bespeaks  very  good  taste.  What  next  would 
you  mention,  Miss  Dolly  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  I  have  enjoyed  so  many  things. 
Perhaps  I  should  say  the  doge's  palace  at  Venice." 

"Ha!  the  doge's  palace,  hey?  You  like  the 
pink  and  white  marble." 

"  Don't  you,  Mr.  Thayer  ?  " 

"  That's  not  what  one  looks  for  in  architecture. 
What  do  you  say  to  St.  Peter's  ?  " 

"  You  will  find  a  great  deal  of  fault  with  me. 
I  did  not  care  for  it." 


522  THE   END  OF  A  COIL. 

" Not?     It  is  Michael  Angelo's  work." 

"  But  knowing  the  artist  is  no  reason  for  admir- 
ing the  work,"  said  Dolly  smiling. 

"  You  are  very  independent !  St.  Peter's !  Not 
to  admire  St.  Peter's  !  " 

"I  admired  the  magnificence,  and  the  power, 
and  a  great  many  things;  but  I  did  not  like  the 
building.  Not  nearly  so  much  as  some  others." 

"  Now  I  wish  we  could  go  to  Passtum,  and  see 
what  you  would  say  to  pure  old  Greek  work.  But 
it  would  be  as  much  as  our  lives  are  worth,  I 
suppose." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Thayer,"  his  wife  cried;  "don't  talk 
about  Pa3stum;  they  are  going  to-morrow  to  the 
point." 

"The  point?  what  point?  the  coast  is  full  of 
points." 

"The  Punta  di  Campanella,  papa,"  said  Chris- 
tina. 

"  I  thought  you  were  going  to  Capri." 

"We'll  keep  Capri  tilTSandie  comes.  He  would 
be  a  help  on  the  water.  0  all  our  marine  excur- 
sions we  will  keep  until  Sandie  comes.  I  only 
hope  he'll  be  good  and  come." 

The  very  air  seemed  full  of  pleasant  anticipa- 
tions; and  Dolly  would  have  been  extremely  hap- 
py; was  happy;  until  on  going  in  to  dinner  she 
saw  the  wineglasses  on  the  table  and  bottles  sus- 
piciously cooling  in  water.  Her  heart  sank  down, 
down.  If  she  had  had  time  and  had  dared,  she 
would  have  remonstrated ;  but  yet  what  could  she 


AT  THE  VILLA.  523 

say  ?  She  knew  too  that  the  wine  at  Mr.  Thayer's 
table,  like  eveiything  else  on  it,  would  be  of  the 
best  procurable;  better  and  more  alluring  than 
her  father  could  get  elsewhere.  In  her  secret 
heart  there  was  a  bitter  unspoken  cry  of  remon- 
strance. 0  friends !  0  friends ! — she  was  ready  to 
say, — do  you  know  what  you  are  doing  ?  You  are 
dropping  sweet  poison  into  my  life;  bitter  poi- 
son; deadly  poison,  where  you  little  think  it;  and 
you  do  it  with  smiles  and  coloured  glasses ! — She 
could  hardly  eat  her  dinner.  She  saw  with  inde- 
scribable pain  and  a  sort  of  powerless  despair, 
how  Mr.  Copley  felt  the  license  of  his  friend's 
house  and  example,  and  how  the  delicacy  of  the 
vintages  offered  him  acted  to  dull  his  conscience ; 
Mr.  Thayer  praising  them  and  hospitably  pressing 
his  guest  to  partake.  He  himself  drank  very  mod- 
erately and  in  a  kind  of  mere  matter-of-fact  way ; 
it  was  part  of  the  dinner  routine;  and  St.  Leger 
tasted,  as  a  man  who  knows  indeed  what  is  good, 
but  also  makes  it  a  matter  of  no  moment ;  no  more 
than  his  bread  or  his  napkin.  Mr.  Copley  drank 
with  eager  gusto,  and  glass  after  glass;  even, 
Dolly  thought,  in  a  kind  of  bravado.  And  this 
would  go  on  every  day  while  their  visit  lasted; 
and  perhaps  not  at  dinner  only ;  there  were  lunch- 
eons, and  for  ought  she  knew,  suppers.  Dolly's 
heart  was  hot  within  her;  so  hot  that  after  dinner 
she  could  riot  keep  herself  from  speaking  on  the 
subject  to  Christina.  Yet  she  'must  begin  as  far 
from  her  father  as  possible.  The  two  girls  were 


524  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

sitting  on  the  bank  under  a  fig  tree,  looking  out 
on  the  wonderful  spectacle  of  the  bay  of  Naples 
at  evening. 

"  There  is  a  matter  I  have  been  thinking  a  great 
deal  about  lately,"  she  said,  with  a  little  heart- 
beat at  her  daring. 

"I  dare  say,"  laughed  Christina.  "That  is  quite 
in  your  way.  0  I  do  wish  Sandie  would  come ! 
He  ought  to  be  here." 

"  This  is  no  laughing  matter,  Christina.  It  is  a 
serious  question." 

"You  are  never  anything  but  serious,  are  you?" 
said  her  friend.  "If  you  have  a  fault,  it  is  that, 
Dolly.  You  don't  laugh  enough." 

Dolly  was  silent  and  swallowed  her  answer;  for 
what  did  Christina  know  about  it?  She  had  not  to 
watch  over  her  father ;  her  father  watched  over  her. 
Presently  she  began  again ;  her  voice  had  a  little 
strain  in  its  tone. 

"This  is  something  for  you  and  me  to  consider; 
for  you  and  me,  and  other  women  who  can  do  any- 
thing. Christina,  did  you  ever  think  about  the  use 
of  wine  ?  " 

"  Wine  ?  "  echoed  Miss  Thayer,  a  good  deal  mys- 
tified. "The  use  of  it?  Iidoii't  know  any  use  of 
it,  except  to  give  people,  gentlemen,  something  to 
talk  of  at  dinner.  0  it  is  good  in  sickness,  I  sup- 
pose. What  are  you  thinking  of?  " 

"  I  am  thinking  of  the  harm  it  does,"  said  Dolly 
in  a  low  voice. 

"Harm?     What   harm?     You   are  not   one  of 


AT  THE  VILLA.  525 

those  absurd  people  I  have  heard  of,  who  cut  down 
their  apple  trees  for  fear  the  apples  will  be  made 
into  cider  ?  " 

"I  have  no  apple  trees  to  cut  down,"  said  Dolly. 
"  But  don't  you  know,  Christina,  that  there  is  such 
a  thing  as  drinking .  too  much  wine  ?  and  what 
comes  of  it  ?  " 

"  Not  among  our  sort  of  people,"  said  Christina. 
"  I  know  there  are  such  things  as  drunkards ;  but 
they  are  in  the  lower  classes,  who  drink  whiskey 
and  gin.  Not  among  gentlemen." 

Dolly  choked,  and  turned  her  face  away  to  hide 
the  eyes  full  of  tears. 

"  Too  much  wine  ?  "  Christina  repeated.  "  One 
may  have  too  much  of  anything.  Too  much  fire 
will  burn  up  your  house;  yet  fire  is  a  good  thing." 

"That's  only  burning  up  your  house," — said  Dol- 
ly sorrowfully. 

"  Only  burning  up  your  house !  Dolly  Copley, 
what  are  you  thinking  of  ?  " 

"  I  am  thinking  of  something  infinitely  worse. 
I  am  thinking  of  a  man  losing  his  manhood;  of 
families  losing  their  stay  and  their  joy,  because 
the  father,  or  the  husband,  or  the  brother,  has  lost 
himself; — gone  down  below  his  standing  as  an 
intellectual  creature;  —  become  a  mere  animal, 
given  up  to  low  pleasures  which  make  him  sink 
lower  and  lower  in  the  scale  of  humanity.  I  am 
thinking  of  his  loss  and  of  their  loss,  Christina.  I 
am  thinking  of  the  dreadfulness  of  being  ashamed 
of  the  dearest  thing  you  have ;  and  the  way  hearts 


526  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

break  under  it.  And  don't  you  know,  that  when 
the  love  of  wine  and  the  like  gets  hold  of  a  per- 
son, it  is  stronger  than  he  is?  It  makes  a  slave  of 
him,  so  that  he  cannot  help  himself." 

Christina's  thoughts  made  a  rapid  flight  over  all 
the  persons  for  whom  Dolly  could  possibly  fear 
such  a  fate,  or  in  whom  she  could  possibly  have 
seen  such  an  example.  But  Mr.  St.  Leger  had  the 
clear  fresh  colour  of  perfect  health  and  condition ; 
Mr.  Copley  loved  wine  evidently,  but  drank  it  like 
a  gentleman,  and  gave,  to  her  eyes,  no  sign  of  be- 
ing enslaved.  What  could  Dolly  be  thinking  of? 
Her  mother  was  out  of  the  question. 

"  I  don't  make  out  what  you  are  at,  Dolly,"  she 
said.  "Such  things  do  not  happen  in  our  class  of 
society." 

"Yes,  they  do.  They  happen  in  every  class. 
And  the  highest  ought  to  set  an  example  to  the 
lowest." 

"No  use  if  they  did.  Anyhow,  Dolly,  it  is  noth- 
ing you  and  I  can  meddle  with." 

"  I  think  we  ought  not  to  have  wine  on  our 
tables." 

"  Mercy !     Everybody  does  that." 

"It  is  offering  temptation." 

"To  whom?  Our  friends  are  not  that  sort  of 
people." 

"How  do  you  know  but  they  may  be?  How 
can  you  tell  but  the  taste  or  the  tendency  may  be 
where  you  least  think  of  it  ?  " 

"You  don't  mean  that  Mr.  St.  Leger  has  any- 


AT  THE  VILLA.  527 

thing  of  that  sort  ?  "  said  Christina,  facing  round 
upon  her. 

"  No  more  than  other  people,  so  far  as  I  know. 
I  am  speaking  in  general,  Christina.  The  thing  is 
in  the  world ;  and  we,  I  do  think,  we  whose  exam- 
ple would  influence  people, — I  suppose  everybody's 
example  influences  somebody  else  —  I  think  we 
ought  to  do  what  we  can." 

"  And  not  have  wine  on  our  dinner-tables ! " 

"  Would  that  be  so  very  dreadful  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  very  inconvenient,  I  can  tell  you, 
and  very  disagreeable.  Fancy!  no  wine  on  the 
table.  No  one  could  understand  it.  And  how 
our  dinner-tables  would  look,  Dolly,  with  the  wine- 
glasses and  the  decanters  taken  off!  And  then, 
what  would  people  talk  about?  Wine  is  such  a 
help  in  getting  through  with  a  dinner  party. 
People  who  do  not  know  anything  else,  and  can- 
not talk  of  anything  else,  can  taste  wine;  and  have 
plenty  to  say  about  its  colour,  and  its  bouquet,  and 
its  age,  and  its  growth,  and  its  manufacture,  and 
where  it  can  be  got  genuine,  and  how  it  can  be 
adulterated.  And  so  one  gets  through  with  the 
dinner  quite  comfortably." 

"  I  should  not  want  to  see  people  who  knew  no 
more  than  that,"  said  Dolly. 

"  0  but  you  must." 

"Why?" 

"And  it  does  not  do  to  be  unfashionable." 

"Why,  Christina!  Do  you  recollect  what  is  said 
in  the  epistle  of  John — 'The  world  knoweth  us 


528  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

not '  ?  I  do  not  see  how  a  Christian  can  be  fash- 
ionable. To  be  fashionable,  one  must  follow  the 
ways  of  the  world." 

"  Well  we  must  follow  some  of  them,"  cried 
Christina  flaring  upx — "  or  people  will  not  have 
anything  to  do  with  you." 

"  That's  what  Christ  said, — '  Because  ye  are  not 
of  the  world,  .  .  .  therefore  the  world  hateth 
you.' " 

"  Do  you  like  to  have  people  hate  you  ?  " 

"No;  but  rather  that  than  have  Jesus  say  I  do 
not  belong  to  him." 

"Dolly,"  said  Christina,  "you  are  very  high- 
flown  !  That  might  just  do  for  one  of  Sandie's 
speeches." 

"  I  am  glad  Mr.  Shubrick  is  such  a  wise  man." 

"  He's  just  a  bit  too  wise  for  me.  You  see,  I  am 
not  so  superior.  I  should  like  to  take  him  down  a 
peg.  And  I  will — if  he  don't  come  soon." 

He  did  not  come  in  time  for  the  next  day's 
pleasure  party;  so  the  young  ladies  had  only  Mr. 
St.  Leger  and  Mr.  Thayer  to  accompany  them. 
Mrs.  Copley  "went  on  no  such  tramps,"  she  said; 
and  Mrs.  Thayer  avowed  she  was  tired  of  them. 
The  expedition  took  all  day,  for  they  went  early 
and  came  back  late,  to  avoid  the  central  heat  of 
midday.  It  was  an  extremely  beautiful  little 
journey;  the  road  commanding  a  long  series  of 
magnificent  views,  almost  from  their  first  setting 
out.  They  went  on  donkeys,  which  was  a  favour- 
ite way  with  Dolly ;  at  Massa  they  stopped  for  a 


AT  THE  VILLA.  529 

cup  of  coffee ;  they  climbed  Monte  San  Costanzo ; 
interviewed  the  hermit  and  enjoyed  the  prospect ; 
and  finally  settled  themselves  for  as  pleasant  a  rest 
as  possible  among  the  myrtles  on  the  solitary  point 
of  the  coast.  From  here  their  eyes  had  a  constant 
regale.  The  blue  Mediterranean  spread  out  before 
them,  Capri  in  the  middle  distance,  and  the  beau- 
ties of  the  shore  nearer  by,  were  an  endless  enter- 
tainment for  Dolly.  Christina  declared  she  had 
seen  it  all  before;  Mr.  Thayer  found  nothing 
worthy  of  much  attention  unless  it  had  antiqui- 
ties to  be  examined;  and  the  fourth  member  of 
the  party  was  somewhat  too  busy  with  human  and 
social  interests  to  leave  his  attention  free. 

Mr.  St.  Leger  had  been  now  for  a  long  time 
very  unobtrusive  in  his  attentions  to  Dolly,  and 
Dolly  partly  hoped  he  had  given  her  up ;  but  that 
was  a  mistake.  Perhaps  he  thought  it  was  only  a 
matter  of  time,  for  Dolly  to  get  acquainted  with 
him  and  accustomed  to  him;  perhaps  he  thought 
himself  sure  of  his  game,  if  the  fish  had  only  line 
enough.  Having  the  powerful  support  of  Dolly's 
father  and  mother,  all  worldly  interests  on  the 
side  of  his  suit,  a  person  and  presence  certainly 
unobjectionable,  to  say  the  least;  how  could  a  girl 
like  Dolly,  in  the  long  run,  remain  unimpressed  ? 
He  would  give  her  time.  Meanwhile  Mr.  St. 
Leger  was  enjoying  himself;  seeing  her  daily 
and  familiarly;  he  could  wait  comfortably.  It 
would  appear  by  all  this  that  Lawrence  was  not 
an  ardent  man ;  but  constitutions  are  different ; 
34 


530  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

there  is  an  ardour  of  attack,  and  there  is  an  ardour 
of  persistence;  and  the  latter,  I  think,  belonged  to 
him.  Besides,  he  had  sense  enough  to  see  that  a 
too  eager  pressing  of  his  cause  with  Dolly  would 
ruin  all.  So  he  had  waited,  not  discontentedly, 
and  bided  his  time.  Now,  however,  he  began  to 
think  it  desirable  on  many  accounts  to  have  the 
question  decided.  Mr.  Copley  would  not  stay 
much  longer  in  Italy,  Lawrence  was  certain,  and 
the  present  way  of  life  would  come  to  an  end;  if 
his  advantages  were  ever  to  bear  fruit,  it  should 
be  ripe  now.  Moreover,  one  or  two  other,  and 
seemingly  inconsistent,  considerations  came  in. 
Lawrence  admired  Miss  Thayer.  Her  beauty  was 
even  more  striking,  to  his  fancy,  than  Dolly's;  if  it 
were  also  more  like  other  beauties  he  had  seen. 
She  had  money  too,  and  Dolly  had  none.  Truly 
Mr.  St.  Leger  had  enough  of  his  own;  but  when 
did  ever  a  man  with  enough,  not  therefore  desire 
more?  He  admired  Christina  very  much;  she 
suited  him;  if  Dolly  should  prove  after  all  obdu- 
rate, here  was  his  chance  for  making  himself 
amends.  Cool !  for  an  ardent  lover ;  but  Mr.  St. 
Leger  was  of  a  calm  temperament,  and  these  sug- 
gestions did  come  into  his  mind  back  of  his  liking 
for  Dolly. 

This  liking  was  strong  upon  him  the  day  of  the  ex- 
cursion to  the  Punta  di  Campanella.  Of  necessity 
he  was  Christina's  special  attendant,  Mr.  Thayer 
being  Dolly's.  Many  girls  would  not  have  relished 
such  an  arrangement,  Lawrence  knew;  his  sisters 


AT  THE  VILLA.  531 

would  not.  And  Dolly  was  in  an  acme  of  delight. 
Lawrence  watched  her  whenever  they  came  near 
each  other,  and  marvelled  at  the  sweet,  childish- 
womanish  face.  It  was  in  a  ripple  of  pleasure; 
the  brown  considerate  eyes  were  sparkling,  roving 
with  quick  watchful  glances  over  everything,  and 
losing  as  few  as  possible  of  the  details  of  the 
way.  Talking  to  Mr.  Thayer  now  and  then,  Law- 
rence saw  her,  with  the  most  innocent  sweet  mouth 
in  the  world ;  her  smile  and  that  play  of  lip  and 
eye  bewitched  him  whenever  he  got  a  glimpse  of 
it.  The  play  of  Christina's  features  was  never  so 
utterly  free,  so  absent  from  thought  of  self,  so  art- 
less in  its  fun.  Now  and  then  too  there  came  the 
soft  low  ring  of  a  clear  voice,  in  laughter  or  talk- 
ing, bearing  the  same  characteristics  of  a  sweet 
spirit  and  a  simple  heart;  and  yet,  when  in  repose, 
Dolly's  face  was  strong  in  its  sense  and  womanli- 
ness. The  combination  held  Mr.  St.  Leger  captive. 
I  do  not  know  how  he  carried  on  his  needful  atten- 
tions to  his  companion ;  with  a  mechanical  necessi- 
ty, I  suppose;  when  all  the  while  he  was  watch- 
ing Dolly  and  contrasting  the  two  girls.  He  was 
not  such  a  fool  as  not  to  know  which  indications 
promised  him  the  best  wife;  or  if  not  him,  the  man 
who  could  get  her.  And  he  resolved,  if  a  chance 
offered,  he  would  speak  to  Dolly  that  very  day. 
For  here  was  Christina,  if  his  other  hope  failed. 
He  was  cool;  nevertheless  he  was  in  earnest. 

They  had  climbed  up  Monte  San  Costanzo  and 
admired  the  view.     They  had  rested,  and  enjoyed 


532  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

a  capital  lunch  among  the  myrtles  on  the  point. 
It  was  when  they  were  on  their  way  home  in  the 
afternoon,  and  not  till  then,  that  the  opportunity 
presented  itself  which  he  had  wished  for.  On  the, 
way  home,  the  order  of  march  was  broken  up. 
Christina  sometimes  dropped  St.  Leger  to  ride 
with  her  father;  sometimes  called  Dolly  to  be  her 
companion ;  and  at  last,  declaring  that  she  did  not 
want  Mr.  St.  Leger  to  have  a  sense  of  sameness 
about  the  day,  she  set  off  with  her  father  ahead, 
begging  Dolly  to  amuse  the  other  gentleman. 

Which  Dolly  made  not  the  least  effort  to  do. 
The  scenery  was  growing  more  lovely  with  every 
minute's  lengthening  shadows ;  and  she  rode  along, 
giving  all  her  attention  to  it;  not  making  to  Mr. 
St.  Leger  even  the  remarks  she  might  have  made 
to  Mr.  Thayer.  The  change  of  companions  to  her 
was  not  welcome.  St.  Leger  found  the  burden  of 
conversation  must  lie  upon  him. 

"  We  have  not  seen  much  of  each  other  for  a 
long  time,"  he  began. 

"Only  two  or  three  times  a  day,"  said  Dolly. 

"  And  you  think  that  is  enough,  perhaps  !  "  said 
Lawrence  hastily. 

"  Don't  you  think,  more  would  have  a  tendency 
to  produce  what  Christina  calls  a  '  sense  of  same- 
ness '  ?  "  said  Dolly,  turning  towards  him  a  face  all 
dimpled  with  fun. 

"  That  is  according  to  circumstances.  The  idea 
is  not  flattering.  But  Miss  Dolly,"  said  Lawrence, 
pulling  himself  up,  "  in  all  this  while — these 


AT  THE  VILLA.  533 

months — that  we  have  been  travelling  together, 
we  have  had  time  to  learn  to  know  each  other 
pretty  well.  You  must  have  been  able  to  make 
up  your  mind  about  me." 

"  Which  part  of  your  character  ?  " 

"  Miss  Dolly,"  said  Lawrence  with  some  heat, 
"  you  know  what  I  mean." 

"  Do  1  ?  But  I  did  not  know  that  I  had  to  make 
up  my  mind  about  anything  concerning  you.  I 
thought  that  was  done,  long  ago." 

"  And  you  do  not  like  me  any  better  now  than 
you  did  then  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  do,"  said  Dolly  slowly.  "  I  always 
liked  you,  Mr.  St.  Leger,  and  I  had  cause.  You 
have  been  a  very  kind  friend  to  us." 

"  For  your  sake,  Dolly." 

"  I  am  sorry,  for  that,"  she  said. 

"  And  I  have  waited  all  this  time,  in  the  hope 
that  you  would  get  accustomed  to  me,  and  your 
objections  would  wear  away.  You  know  what 
your  father  and  mother  wish  concerning  us.  Does 
their  wish  not  weigh  with  you  ?  " 

'-No,"  said  Dolly  very  quietly.  "This  is  my 
affair;  not  theirs." 

"It  is  their  affair  so  far  as  your  interests  are 
involved.  And  I  do  not  wish  to  praise  myself; 
but  you  know  they  think  that  those  interests  would 
be  secured  by  a  marriage  with  me.  And  I  believe 
I  could  make  you  happy,  Dolly." 

Dolly  shook  her  head.  "  How  could  you  ?  "  she 
said.  "We  belong  to  two  opposite  parties,  and 


534  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

are  following  two  different  lines  of  life.  You 
would  not  like  my  way,  and  I  should  not  like 
yours.  How  could  either  of  us  be  happy  ? '' 

"  Even  granting  all  that,"  said  Lawrence,  "  why 
should  you  not  bear  with  my  peculiarities  and  I 
with  yours,  and  neither  be  the  worse?  That  is 
very  frequently  done." 

"  Is  it  ?     I  do  not  think  it  ought  to  be  done." 

"  Let  us  prove  that  it  can  be.  I  will  never  in- 
terfere with  you,  Dolly." 

"  Yes,  you  would,"  said  Dolly,  dimpling  all  over 
again.  "  Do  you  think  you  would  make  up  your 
mind  to  have  no  wine  in  your  cellar  or  on  your 
table?  Take  that  for  one  thing.  I  should  have 
no  wine  on  mine/' 

"That's  a  crotchet  of  yours,"  said  he  smiling  at 
her:  he  thought  if  this  were  all,  the  thing  might 
be  managed. 

"  That  is  only  one  thing,  Mr.  St.  Leger,"  Dolly 
went  on  very  gravely  now.  "  I  should  be  unfash- 
ionable in  a  hundred  ways,  and  you  would  not  like 
that.  I  should  spend  money  on  objects  and  for 
causes  that  you  would  not  care  about  nor  agree  to. 
I  am  telling  you  all  this  to  reconcile  you  to  doing 
without  me." 

"Your  refusal  is  absolute,  then?" 

"  Yes." 

"You  would  not  bring  up  these  extraneous 
things,  Dolly,  if  you  had  any  love  for  me." 

"  I  do  not  know  why  that  should  make  any 
difference.  It  might  make  it  hard." 


AT  THE  VILLA.  535 

"  Then  you  have  no  love  for  me  ?  " 

"I  am  afraid  not,"  said  Dolly  gently.  "Not 
what  you  mean.  And  without  that,  you  would 
not  wish  for  a  different  answer  from  me." 

"  Yes,  I  would ! "  said  he.  "All  that  would  come ; 
but  you  know  your  own  business  best." 

Dolly  thought  she  did,  and  the  proposition  re- 
mained un controverted.  Therewith  the  discourse 
died;  and  the  miles  that  remained  were  made  in 
unsocial  silence.  Dolly  feared  she  had  given  some 
pain,  but  doubted  it  could  not  be  very  great ;  and 
she  wras  glad  to  have  the  explanation  over.  Per- 
haps the  pain  was  more  than  she  knew;  although 
Lawrence  certainly  was  not  a  desperate  wooer; 
nevertheless  he  was  disappointed,  and  he  was  mor- 
tified; and  mortification  is  hard  to  a  man.  For 
the  matter  of  that,  it  is  hard  to  anybody.  It  was 
not  till  the  villa  occupied  by  the  Thayers  was  close 
before  them  that  he  spoke  again. 

"  Do  you  expect  to  stay  much  longer  in  Italy  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid,  not,"  Dolly  answered. 

"  I  have  reason  to  think  Mr.  Copley  will  not. 
Indeed  I  know  as  much.  I  thought  you  might 
like  to  be  informed." 

Dolly  said  nothing.  Her  eyes  roved  over  the 
beautiful  bay,  almost  with  an  echo  of  Eve's  "Must 
I  then  leave  thee,  Paradise  ?  " — in  her  heart.  The 
smoke  curling  up  from  Vesuvius  caught  the  light; 
little  sails  skimming  over  the  sea  reflected  it;  the 
sweetness  of  thousands  of  roses  and  orange  blos- 
soms and  countless  other  flowers  filled  all  the  air; 


536  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

it  was  a  time  and  a  scene  of  nature's  most  abun- 
dant and  beautiful  bounty.  Dolly  checked  her  don- 
key, and  for  a  few  minutes  stood  looking;  then 
with  a  brave  determination  that  she  would  enjoy 
it  all  as  much  as  she  could  while  she  had  it,  she 
went  into  the  house. 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

WHITHER   NOW? 

THE  days  that  followed  were  full  of  pleasure; 
and  Dolly  kept  to  her  resolution,  not  to  spoil 
the  present  by  care  about  the  future.  Indeed  the 
balmy  air  and  the  genial  light  and  all  the  wealth 
that  nature  has  bestowed  upon  southern  Italy,  were 
a  help  to  such  a  resolution.  The  infinite  lavish 
fulness  of  the  present  quite  laughed  at  the  idea 
of  barrenness  or  want  anywhere  in  time  to 
come.  Dolly  knew  that  was  nature's  subtle  flat- 
tery, not  to  be  trusted,  and  yet  she  willingly  ad- 
mitted the  flattery.  Nothing  should  spoil  these 
days. 

One  evening  she  and  Christina  were  sitting 
again  on  the  bank,  wondering  at  the  marvellous 
sunset  panorama. 

"  How  difficult  it  is,  looking  at  this,"  said  Dolly, 
"  to  believe  that  there  is  want  and  misery  in  the 
world." 

"  Why  should  you  believe  it  ? "  said  Christina. 
"  I  don't  think  there  is,  except  where  people  have 
brought  it  upon  themselves." 

"  People   bring   it  upon   other  people.     But  to 


538  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

look  at  this,  one  would  say  it  was  impossible. 
And  this  is  how  the  world  was  meant  to  be,  I 
suppose." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  how  ? "  said  Christina. 
"  It  is  rich  to  hear  you  talk." 

"  0  look  at  it,  Christina !  Look  at  the  colours, 
and  the  lights  and  the  sparkle  everywhere,  the 
perfect  wealth  of  loveliness  in  form  as  well  as  col- 
our; and  if  you  think  a  minute  you  will  know  that 
he  who  made  it  all  meant  people  to  be  happy,  and 
meant  them  to  be  as  full  of  happiness  as  the  earth 
is  full  of  beauty." 

"  I  don't  see  '  lights '  and  '  colours '  so  much 
as  you  do,  Dolly;  I  am  not  an  artist;  but  if 
God  meant  them  to  be  happy,  why  aren't  they 
happy?" 

"  Sin — "  said  Dolly. 

"What's  the  use  of  thinking  about  it?  You 
and  I  cannot  help  it." 

"  Christina,  that  is  not  true.  We  can  help  some 
of  it." 

"By  giving  money,  you  mean?  Well,  we  do, 
whenever  we  see  occasion;  but  there  is  no  end 
of  the  cheatery." 

"  Giving  money  will  not  take  away  the  world's 
misery,  Christina." 

"  What  will,  then  ?     It  will  do  a  good  deal." 

"  It  will  do  a  good  deal,  but  it  does  not  touch 
the  root  of  the  trouble." 

"What  does,  Dolly? — you  dreamer." 

"The  knowledge  of  Christ." 


WHITHER  Now  ?  539 

"  Well,  it  is  the  business  of  clergymen  and  mis- 
sionaries to  give  them  that." 

"  Prove  it." 

"  Why  that's  what  they  are  for." 

"Do  you  think  there  are  enough  of  them  to 
preach  the  good  news  to  every  creature  ?  " 

"  Well,  then  there  ought  to  be  more." 

"And  in  the  mean  time? — Tell  me,  Christina, 
to  whom  was  that  command  given,  to  preach  the 
gospel  to  every  creature  ?  " 

"  To  the  apostles,  of  course  !  " 

"  Twelve  men  ?  Or  eleven  men  rather.  They 
could  not.  No,  it  was  given  to  all  the  disciples; 
and  so,  Christina,  it  was  given  to  you,  and  to  me." 

"  To  preach  the  gospel !  "  said  Christina. 

"That  is,  just  to  tell  the  good  news." 

"And  to  whom  do  you  propose  we  should  tell  it?" 

"The  command  says,  everybody." 

"  How  can  you  and  I  do  that,  Dolly  ?  " 

"That  is  just  what  I  am  studying,  Christina.  1 
do  not  quite  know.  But  when  I  look  out  on  all  this 
wonderful  beauty,  and  see  what  it  means,  and  think 
how  miserable  the  world  is, — just  the  very  oppo- 
site,— I  feel  that  I  must  do  it,  somehow  or  other." 

Christina  lifted  her  arms  above  her  head  and 
clapped  her  hands  together.  "  Mad,  mad ! "  she 
exclaimed; — "You  are  just  gone  mad,  Dolly.  0 
I  wish  you'd  get  married,  and  forget  all  your 
whimsies.  The  right  sort  of  man  would  make 
you  forget  them.  Haven't  you  found  the  right 
sort  of  man  yet  ?  " 


540  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"The  right  sort  of  man  would  help  ms  carry 
them  out." 

"It  must  be  my  Sandie,  then;  there  isn't  an 
other  match  for  you  in  extravagant  ideas  in  all 
this  world.  What  does  Mr.  St.  Leger  think  of 
them  ?  " 

"  I  never  asked  him.  I  suppose  he  would  take 
very  much  your  view." 

"And  you  don't  care  what  view  he  takes?"  said 
Christina,  looking  sharply  at  her. 

"Not  in  the  least.     Except  for  his  own  sake." 

The  one  drawback  upon  the  perfect  felicity  of 
this  visit  was,  that  the  said  Sandie  did  not  ap- 
pear. They  could  not  wait  for  him;  they  went 
on  the  most  charming  of  excursions,  by  sea  and 
land,  wishing  for  him;  in  which  wish  Dolly  heart- 
ily shared.  It  had  been  one  of  the  pleasures  she 
had  promised  herself  in  coming  to  the  Thayers', 
that  she  should  see  Mr.  Shubrick  again.  He  had 
interested  her  singularly,  and  even  taken  not  a 
little  hold  of  her  fancy.  So  she  was  honestly  dis- 
appointed when  at  last  a  note  came  from  him,  say- 
ing that  he  found  it  impossible  to  join  the  party. 

"That  means  just  that  he  has  something  on  hand 
that  he  calls  '  duty ' — which  anybody  else  would 
put  off  or  hand  over,"  said  Christina  pouting. 

"Duty  is  a  very  good  reason,"  said  Dolly. 
"  Don't  you  see,  you  are  sure  of  Mr.  Shubrick, 
that  in  any  case  he  will  not  do  what  he  thinks 
wrong?  I  think  you  ought  to  be  a  very  happy 
woman,  Christina." 


WHITHER  Now  ?  541 

But  the  excursions  were  made  without  Mr.  Shu- 
brick's  social  or  material  help.  They  went  to 
Capri;  they  visited  the  grottoes;  nay,  they  made 
a  party  to  go  up  Vesuvius.  All  that  was  to  be 
seen,  they  saw;  and  as  Christina  declared,  they 
left  nothing  undone  that  they  could  do.  Then 
came  the  breaking  up. 

"Are  you  expecting  to  go  back  to  that  stuffy 
little  place  at  Sorrento  ? "  Mr.  Copley  asked.  It 
was  the  evening  before  their  departure,  and  all 
the  party  were  sitting,  scattered  about  upon  the 
verandah. 

"  Father !  "  cried  Dolly.  "  It  is  the  airiest,  flow- 
eriest,  sunniest,  brightest,  most  delightful  alto- 
gether house,  that  ever  took  lodgers  in ! " 

"  It  certainly  wasn't  stuffy,  Mr.  Copley,"  said  his 
wife. 

"  Dolly  likes  it  because  you  couldn't  get  a  glass 
of  good  wine  in  the  house.  Whatever  the  rest  of 
humanity  like,  she  makes  war  upon.  I  conclude 
you  are  reckoning  upon  going  back  there,  my  wife 
and  daughter  ?  " 

"  Are  not  you,  Mr.  Copley  ?  "  his  wife  asked. 

"  I  must  be  excused." 

"  Then  where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  Home." 

"  Home  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Copley.  "  Do  you 
mean  home?  Boston?" 

"  A  Boston  woman  thinks  Boston  is  the  centre 
of  the  universe,  you  may  notice,"  said  Mr.  Copley, 
turning  to  Mr.  Thayer.  "  It's  a  curious  peculiarity. 


542  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

No  matter  what  other  cities  on  the  face  of  the  earth 
you  shew  her,  her  soul  turns  back  to  Boston." 

"Don't  say  anything  against  *Boston,"  said  Mrs. 
Thayer;  "it's  a  good  little  place.  I  know,  when 
Mr.  Thayer  first  carried  me  there,  it  took  me  a 
while  to  get  accustomed  to  it; — things  on  a  differ- 
ent scale,  you  know,  and  looked  at  from  a  different 
point  of  view;  but  I  soon  found  admirers,  and  then 
friends.  0  I  assure  you,  Boston  and  I  were  very 
fond  of  each  other  in  those  days;  and  though  I 
lost  my  claims  to  admiration  a  long  time  ago,  1 
have  kept  my  friends." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  the  admirers  are  still  there 
too,"  said  Mr.  Copley.  "  Does  Mrs.  Thayer  mean 
to  say  she  has  no  admirers?  I  profess  myself 
one ! " 

"  Christina  takes  the  admiration  uow-a-days.  I 
am  contented  with  that." 

"  And  so  you  conquer  by  proxy." 

"  Mr.  Copley,"  here  put  in  his  wife,  "  if  you  do 
not  mean  America  by  '  home,'  what  do  you  mean  ? 
and  where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  Where  my  home  has  been  for  a  number  of 
years.  England — London." 

"  But  you  have  given  up  your  office  ?  " 

"  I  am  half  sorry,  that  is  a  fact." 

"  Then  what  should  you  do  in  London  ?  " 

"  My  dear,  of  the  many  hundred  thousands  who 
call  London  their  home,  very  few  have  an  office." 

"  But  they  have  business  of  some  kind  ?  " 

"That  is  a  Boston  notion.     Did  you  ever  ob- 


WHITHER  Now?  543 

serve,  Thayer,  that  a  Massachusetts  man  has  no 
idea  of  life  without  business?  It  is  the  reason 
why  he  is  in  the  world,  to  him;  it  never  occurs 
to  him  that  play  might  be  occasionally  useful.  I 
declare !  I  believe  they  don't  know  the  meaning 
of  the  word  in  America;  it  has  dropped  out,  like 
a  forgotten  art." 

"But  father,"  Dolly  spoke  up  now,  "if  you  are 
going  to  London,  mother  and  I  cannot  possibly  go 
to  Sorrento." 

"  I  don't  quite  see  the  logic  of  that." 

"  Why  we  cannot  be  here  in  Italy  quite  alone." 

"  I'll  leave  you  St.  Leger  to  take  care  of  you  and 
bring  you  back;  as  he  took  you  away." 

"I  should  be  very  happy  to  fall  in  with  that 
plan,"  said  Lawrence  slowly;  "but  I  fear  I  cannot 
make  it  out.  I  have  been  making  arrangements 
to  go  into  Greece,  seeing  that  I  am  so  near  it. 
And  I  may  q  te  possibly  spend  another  winter 
in  Rome." 

There  was  a  pause,  and  when  Mr.  Copley  spoke 
again  there  was  another  sound  in  his  voice.  It 
was  not  his  will  to  betray  it,  but  Dolly  heard  the 
chagrin  and  disappointment. 

"  Well,"  said  he, — "  such  independent  travellers 
as  you  two  ladies  can  do  pretty  comfortably  alone 
in  that  paragon  of  lodging  houses." 

"  But  not  make  the  journey  home  alone,  father." 

"  When  are  you  coming  ?  " 

"  When  you  do,  of  course,"  said  his  wife. 

Dolly  knew  it  must  be  so  and  not  otherwise. 


544  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

She  sat  still  and  downhearted,  looking  abroad  over 
the  bay  of  Naples,  over  all  the  shores  of  which  the 
moonlight  was  quivering  or  lying  in  still  floods  of 
calm  beauty.  From  this,  aye,  and  from  everything 
that  was  like  this,  in  either  its  fairness  or  its  tran- 
quillity, she  must  go.  There  had  been  a  little  lull 
in  her  cares  since  they  came  to  Sorrento;  the  lull 
was  over.  Back  to  London!  —  And  that  meant, 
back  to  everything  from  which  she  had  hoped  to 
escape.  How  fondly  she  had  hoped,  once  her  fa- 
ther was  away  from  the  scene  of  his  habits  and 
temptations,  he  could  be  saved  to  himself  and 
his  family ;  and  perhaps  even  lured  back  to  Amer- 
ica where  he  would  be  comparatively  safe.  Now 
where  was  that  hope,  or  any  other?  Suddenly 
Dolly  changed  her  place  and  sat  down  close  beside 
Mr.  Copley. 

"  Father,  I  wish  you  would  take  us  back  to  our 
real  old  home — back  to  Roxbury !  " 

"  Can't  do  it,  my  pet." 

"  But  father,  why  not  ?  What  should  keep  you 
in  England?" 

"  Business." 

"  Now  that  you  are  out  of  the  office  ?  " 

"Yes.  Do  you  think  all  business  is  confined 
to  the  consuls'  offices?  A  few  other  people  have 
something  to  do."  , 

Dolly  heard  no  tone  of  hope-giving  in  her  fa- 
ther's words.  She  ceased  and  sat  silent,  leaning 
upon  his  knee  as  she  was,  and  looking  off  into  the 
moonlight.  Mrs.  Thayer  and  Mr.  St.  Leger  were 


WHITHER  Now  ?  545 

carrying  on  a  lively  discourse  about  people  and 
things  unknown  to  her;  Mr.  Thayer  was  smoking; 
Mrs.  Copley  was  silent  and  sorry  and  cast-down, 
like  herself,  she  knew.  Dolly's  eye  went  roving 
through  the  moonlight  as  if  it  were  never  going  to 
see  moonlight  again;  and  her  heart  was  taking  up 
the  old  question,  and  feeling  it  too  heavy  to  carry, 
how  should  she  save  her  father  from  his  tempta- 
tion ?  Under  the  pressure  Dolly's  heart  felt  very 
low ;  until  again  those  words  came  and  lifted  her 
up,  —  "Who  shall  separate  us  from  the  love  of 
Christ?"  After  that  the  sweet  moonbeams  seemed 
to  be  full  of  those  words.  1  am  not  alone,  thought 
Dolly,  I  am  not  forgotten ;  and  He  does  not  mean 
that  I  should  be  crushed,  or  hurt,  by  this  arrange- 
ment of  things,  which  I  strove  so  to  hinder.  I 
will  not  be  one  of  the  "  little  faith  "  people.  I  will 
just  trust  the  Lord — my  Lord.  What  I  cannot  do, 
he  can ;  and  his  ways  are  wonderful  and  past  find- 
ing out. 

So  she  was  quieted.  And  yet  as  she  sat  there  it 
came  over  Dolly's  mind,  as  things  will,  quite  un- 
bidden; it  came  over  her  to  think  how  life  would 
go  on  here,  in  Italy,  with  Christina,  after  she  was 
gone.  When  the  lovely  Italian  chapter  of  her  own 
life  was  closed  up  and  ended,  when  she  would  •  e 
far  away  out  of  sight  of  Vesuvius,  in  the  fogs  of 
London,  the  sun  of  Naples  would  still  be  shining 
on  the  Thayers'  villa.  They  would  go  sailing  on 
blue  water,  or  floating  over  the  gold  and  purple  re- 
flections which  sometimes  seemed  to  fill  both  water 
35 


546  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

and  air;  they  would  see  the  white  shafts  of  Psestum, 
yes,  it  would  be  soon  cool  enough  for  that;  or  if 
they  must  wait  for  Psestum,  there  were  enough 
old  monasteries  and  ruined  castles  and  beauties  of 
the  like  sort  to  keep  them  busy  for  many  a  day. 
Beauties  which  Dolly  and  Mr.  Thayer  loved.  No- 
body else  in  the  house  loved  them.  Christina  had 
hardly  an  eye  for  them ;  and  St.  Leger,  if  he  looked, 
did  not  care  for  what  he  saw.  Nevertheless,  they 
three  would  go  picnicing  through  the  wonderful 
old  land,  where  every  step  was  on  monumental 
splendour  or  historical  ashes,  and  the  sights  would 
be  before  them ;  whether  they  had  eyes  to  see  or 
no.  For  Dolly  it  was  all  done.  She  was  glad  she 
had  had  so  much  and  enjoyed  so  much ;  and  that 
enjoyment  had  given  memory  such  a  treasure  of 
things  to  keep,  that  were  hers  for  all  time,  and 
could  be  looked  at  in  memory's  chambers  when- 
ever she  pleased.  Yet  she  could  not  see  the  moon- 
light on  the  bay  of  Naples  this  evening  for  the  last 
time,  and  remember  towards  what  she  was  turning 
her  face,  without  some  tears  coming  that  nobody 
saw;  tears  that  were  salt  and  hot. 

The  journey  home  was  a  contrast  to  the  way  by 
which  they  had  come.  It  pleased  Mr.  Copley  to  go 
by  sea  from  Naples  to  Marseilles,  and  from  thence 
through  France  as  fast  as  the  ground  could  be  passed 
over,  till  they  reached  Dover.  And  although  those 
were  not  the  days  of  lightning  travel,  yet  trav- 
elling continually,  the  effect  was  of  one  swift 
confused  rush  between  Naples  and  London.  In- 


WHITHER  Now  ?  547 

stead  of  the  leisurely  winding  course  pursued  to 
Dresden,  and  from  Dresden  to  Venice,  deviating 
at  will  from  the  shortest  or  the  most  obvious  route, 
stopping  at  will  at  any  point  where  the  fancy  took 
them,  dawdling,  speculating,  enjoying,  getting  good 
out  of  every  step  of  the  way, — this  journey  was  a 
sortjof  flash  from  the  one  end  of  it  to  the  other, 
with  nothing  seen  or  remembered  between  but  the 
one  item  of  fatigue.  So  it  came  about,  that  when 
they  found  themselves  in  a  London  lodging  house, 
and  Mrs.  Copley  and  Dolly  sat  down  and  looked  at 
each  other,  they  had  the  feeling  of  having  left  Sor- 
rento last  evening,  and  of  being  dazed  with  the 
sudden  transition  from  Sorrento  and  sunshine  to 
London  and  smoke. 

"  Well ! "  said  Mr.  Copley  rubbing  his  hands, 
"  here  we  are !  " 

"  I  don't  feel  as  if  I  was  anywhere,"  said  his 
wife.  "My  head's  in  a  whirl.  Is  this  the  way 
you  like  to  travel,  Frank?" 

"The  purpose  of  travelling,  my  dear,"  said  Mr. 
Copley,  still  rubbing  his  hands ;  it  must  have  been 
with  satisfaction,  for  it  could  not  have  been  with 
cold ; — "  the  purpose  of  travel  is — to  get  over  the 
ground." 

"  It  wasn't  my  purpose  when  I  went  away." 

"No — but  when  you  came  back." 

"  It  wasn't  my  purpose  anyway,"  said  Mrs.  Cop- 
ley. "  I  should  never  stir  from  my  place  if  I  had 
to  move  the  way  you  have  kept  me  moving.  My 
head  is  in  a  whirl." 


548  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"I'll  take  hold  and  turn  it  round  the  other  way." 

"  I  think  it  is  quite  likely  you  will !  I  should 
like  to  know  what  you  mean  to  do  with  us,  now 
you  have  got  us  here." 

"  Keep  you  here." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  yourself,  Mr. 
Copley?" 

"There  are  always  so  many  uses  that  I  can  make 
of  myself,  more  than  I  have  time  for,  that  I  cannot 
tell  which  I  shall  take  hold  of  first." 

With  which  utterance  he  quitted  the  room,  al- 
most before  it  was  fairly  out  of  his  mouth.  The 
two  left  behind  sat  and  looked  at  the  room,  and 
then  at  each  other. 

"  What  are  we  going  to  do  now,  Dolly  ? "  Mrs. 
Copley  asked,  in  evidently  dismayed  uncertainty. 

"  I  don't  know,  mother." 

"  How  long  do  you  suppose  your  father  will  be 
contented  to  stay  in  this  house  ?  " 

"  I  have  110  means  of  guessing,  mother.  I  don't 
know  why  we  are  here  at  all." 

"  We  had  to  go  somewhere,  I  suppose,  when  we 
came  to  London — -just  for  the  first;  but  I  can't  stay 
here,  Dolly !  " 

"Of  course  not,  mother." 

"Then  where  are  we  going  to?  It  is  all  very 
well  to  say  '  of  course  not ' ;  but  where  can  we  go, 
Dolly?" 

"  I  have  been  thinking  about  it,  mother  dear,  but 
I  have  not  found  out  yet.  If  we  knew  how  long 
father  wanted  to  stay  in  London — " 


WHITHER  Now  ?  549 

"  It  is  no  use  asking  that.  I  can  tell  you  before- 
hand. He  don't  know  himself.  But 'it  is  my  be- 
lief he'll  find  something  or  other  to  make  him  want 
to  stay  here  the  rest  of  his  life." 

"0  mother,  I  hope  not!" 

"  It  is  no  use  speaking  to  him  about  it,  Dolly. 
Even  if  he  knew,  he  would  not  own  it,  but  that's 
my  belief;  and  I  can't  bear  London,  Dolly.  A  very 
few  days  of  this  noise  and  darkness  would  just  put 
me  back  where  I  was  before  we  went  away.  I 
know  it  would." 

"  This  is  a  darker  day  than  common ;  they  are 
not  all  so." 

"  They  are  all  like  gloom  itself,  compared  to 
where  we  have  been.  I  tell  you,  Dolly,  I  cannot 
stand  it.  After  Sorrento,  I  cannot  bear  this." 

"  It's  my  belief,  mother,  you  want  home  and  Rox- 
bury  air.  Why  don't  you  represent  that  to  father, 
forcibly  ?  " 

"  Dolly,  I  never  put  myself  in  the  way  of  your 
father's  pleasure.  He  must  take  his  pleasure ;  and 
he  likes  London.  How  he  can,  I  don't  see ;  but  he 
does,  and  so  do  a  great  many  other  people ;  it  may 
be  a  want  of  taste  in  me;  I  dare  say  it  is;  but  I 
shall  not  put  myself  in  the  way  of  his  pleasure. 
I'll  stand  it  as  long  as  I  can,  and  when  I  cannot 
stand  it  any  longer,  I'll  die.  It  will  come  to  an 
end  some  time." 

"  Mother,  don't  talk  so !  We'll  coax  father  to  fin- 
ish up  his  business  and  go  home  to  Roxbury.  I 
am  quite  setting  my  heart  on  it.  Only  you  have 


550  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

patience  a  little,  and  don't  lose  courage.  I'll  talk 
to  father  as  soon  as  I  get  a  chance." 

"What  a  dirty  place  this  is  !  "  was  Mrs.  Copley's 
next  remark. 

"  Yes.  It  is  not  like  the  rocks  and  the  sea.  A 
great  city  must  be  more  or  less  so,  I  suppose." 

"  I  believe  great  cities  are  a  mistake.  I  be- 
lieve they  were  not  meant  to  be  built.  They  don't 
agree  with  me,  anyway.  Well,  I'll  lie  down  on 
that  old  sofa  there — it's  hard  enough  to  have 
been  one  of  Job's  troubles — and  see  if  I  can  get  to 
sleep." 

Dolly  drew  a  soft  shawl  over  her,  and  sat  down 
to  keep  watch  alone.  The  familiar  London  sounds 
were  not  cheering  to  the  ears  which  had  been  so 
lately  listening  to  the  lap  of  the  waves  and  the 
rustling  of  the  myrtle  branches.  And  the  dingy 
though  comfortable  London  lodging  house  was  a 
poor  exchange  for  the  bay  of  Sorrento  and  the 
bright  rooms  full  of  the  scents  of  orange  flowers 
and  roses  and  carnations.  Dolly  gave  way  a  little 
and  felt  very  down-hearted.  Not  merely  for  this 
change  of  her  outside  world,  indeed;  Dolly  was 
not  so  weak;  only  in  this  case  the  outward  sym- 
bolized the  inward,  and  gave  fitting  form  and  im- 
agery for  it.  The  grime  and  confusion  of  London 
streets,  to  Dolly's  fancy,  were  like  the  evil  ways 
which  she  saw  close  upon  her;  and  as  roses  and 
myrtles,  so  looked  a  fair  family  life  of  love  and 
right  doing.  Why  not?— -when  he  who  is  Love 
itself  and  Kighteousness  immaculate,  declares  of 


WHITHER  Now  ?  551 

himself, — "  I  am  the  rose  of  Sharon,  and  the  lily 
of  the  valleys."  I  do  not  think  those  words  occurred 
to  Dolly  that  night,  but  other  Bible  words  did,  after 
a  while.  Promises  of  the  life  that  shall  be  over  all 
the  earth  one  day,  when  the  wilderness  and  the 
desert  places  shall  be  no  longer  desolate  or  barren, 
but  shall  "  rejoice  and  blossom  as  the  rose  " ;  when 
to  the  Lord's  people,  "  the  sun  shall  no  longer  be 
their  light  by  day,  neither  for  brightness  shall  the 
moon  give  light "  to  them ;  when  "  sorrow  and  sigh- 
ing shall  flee  away,"  and  "  the  days  of  their  mourn- 
ing shall  be  ended."  The  words  were  like  a  lovely 
chime  of  bells, — or  like  the  breath  from  a  whole 
garden  of  roses  and  orange  flowers, — or  like  the 
sunset  light  on  the  bay  of  Naples;  or  anything 
else  most  majestic,  sweet,  and  fair.  What  if  there 
were  shadowed  places  to  go  through  first? — And 
a  region  of  shadow  Dolly  surely  knew  she  had  en- 
tered now.  She  longed  for  her  father  to  come 
home ;  she  wanted  to  consult  with  him  about  their 
arrangements,  and  so  arrive  at  some  certainty  re- 
specting what  she  had  to  do  and  expect.  But  Dol- 
ly knew  that  an  early  coming  home  was  scarce  to 
be  hoped  for ;  and  she  providently  roused  her 
mother  at  ten  o'clock  and  persuaded  her  to  go  to 
bed.  Then  Dolly  waited  alone  in  truth,  with  not 
even  her  sleeping  mother's  company;  very  sad 
at  heart,  and  clutching,  as  a  lame  man  does  his 
stick,  at  some  of  the  words  of  comfort  she  knew. 
"Though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow 
of  death,  I  will  fear  no  evil;  for  thou  art  with  me." 


552  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

The  case  was  not  quite  so  bad,  nor  so  good,  with 
her  as  that;  but  the  words  were  a  strong  staff  to 
lean  upon,  nevertheless.  And  those  others :  "  Be- 
cause he  hath  set  his  love  upon  me,  therefore  will 
I  deliver  him;  I  will  set  him  on  high,  because  he 
hath  known  my  name.  He  shall  call  upon  me,  and 
I  will  answer  him ;  I  will  be  with  him  in  trouble ; 
.  .  ."  And,  "There  shall  no  evil  happen  to  the 
just."  Dolly  stayed  her  heart  on  such  words,  while 
she  waited  for  her  father's  coming.  As  it  grew 
later  and  yet  later  she  doubted  whether  she  ought 
to  wait.  She  was  waiting  however  when  he  came, 
between  twelve  and  one,  but  nearer  the  latter.  She 
listened  to  his  step  on  the  stair,  and  knew  all  was 
not  right;  and  when  he  opened  the  door,  she  saw. 
Her  father  had  surely  been  taking  wine  or  some- 
thing; his  face  was  flushed,  his  eyes  were  excited, 
and  his  manner  was  wandering. 

"  Dolly  ! — what  are  you  here  for  ?  " 

"  I  waited  for  you,  father.  I  wanted  to  have  a 
talk  with  you.  But  it's  too  late  now,"  Dolly  said 
trembling. 

"Too  late — yes,  of  course.  Go  to  bed.  That's 
the  thing  for  you.  London  is  a  great  place,  Dolly! " 

Alas !  His  expression  of  satisfaction  was  echoed 
in  her  heart  by  an  anathema.  It  was  no  time  then 
to  say  anything.  Dolly  went  to  bed  and  cried  her- 
self to  sleep,  longing  for  that  sunshiny  time  of  which 
it  is  promised  to  the  Lord's  people — "Thy  sun  shall 
110  more  go  down  by  day  " ;  and  thankful  beyond 
all  power  of  words  to  express,  even  then  in  her  sor- 


WHITHER  Now  ?  553 

row,  that  another  sun  had  even  already  risen  upon 
her,  in  the  warm  light  of  which  no  utter  darkness 
was  possible. 

It  was  a  day  or  two  before,  with  her  best  watch- 
ing, she  could  catch  an  opportunity  to  speak  to  her 
father.  The  second  morning  Mrs.  Copley  had  head- 
ache and  staid  in  bed,  and  Dolly  and  Mr.  Copley 
were  at  breakfast  alone. 

"  How  long,  father,  do  you  think  you  may  find 
affairs  to  keep  you  in  England?"  Dolly  began  with 
her  father's  first  cup  of  coffee. 

"  As  long  as  I  like,  my  dear.  There  is  no  limit. 
In  England  there  are  always  things  going  on  to 
keep  a  man  alive,  and  to  keep  him  busy." 

"  Isn't  that  true  in  America  equally  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  so.  I  never  found  it  so.  0  there 
is  enough  to  do  there ;  but  you  don't  find  the  same 
facilities,  nor  the  same  men  to  work  with;  and  you 
don't  know  what  to  do  with  your  money  there  when 
you  have  got  it.  England  is  the  place  !  for  a  man 
who  wants  to  live  and  to  enjoy  life." 

u  It  isn't  for  a  woman,"  said  Dolly.  "  At  least, 
not  for  one  woman.  Father,  don't  you  know  moth- 
er is  longing  to  go  home,  to  Roxbury  ?  " 

"Dolly,  she  is  longing  for  something  or  other 
impossible,  every  day  of  her  life."  » 

"  But  it  would  do  her  a  great  deal  of  good  to  be 
back  there." 

"  It  would  do  me  a  great  deal  of  harm." 

There  was  a  pause  here,  during  which  Dolly 
meditated,  and  Mr.  Copley  buttered  pieces  of  toast 


554  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

and  swallowed  them  with  ominous  despatch.  Dol- 
ly saw  he  would  be  soon  through  his  breakfast  at 
that  rate. 

"But  lather,"  she  began  again,  "are  we  to  spend 
all  the  rest  of  our  lives  in  England  ?  " 

"  My  dear,  I  don't  know  anything  about  the  fu- 
ture. I  never  look  ahead.  The  day  is  as  much  as 
I  can  see  through.  I  advise  you  to  follow  my 
example." 

"  What  are  mother  and  I  to  do,  then  ?  We  can- 
not stay  permanently  here,  in  this  house." 

"What's  the  matter  with  it?" 

"  Nothing,  as  a  lodging  house ;  but  mother  would 
not  thrive  or  be  happy  in  a  London  lodging  house." 

"  People's  happiness  is  in  their  own  power.  It 
does  not  depend  upon  place.  All  the  clergymen 
will  tell  you  so.  You  must  talk  to  your  mother, 
Dolly." 

"  Father,  I  talked  to  you  at  Sorrento ;  but  I  re- 
member you  thought  you  could  not  live  there." 

"That  was  Sorrento;  but  London! — London  is 
the  greatest  city  in  the  world.  Every  taste  may 
be  suited  in  London." 

"  You  know  the  air  does  not  agree  with  mother. 
She  will  not  be  well  if  we  keep  her  here,"  said 
Dolly  anxiously;  for  she  saw  the  last  piece  of  toast 
on  its  way. 

"  Nonsense  !     That  is  fancy." 

"  If  it  is  fancy,  it  is  just  as  good  as  reality.  She 
was  pining  when  we  wer&  here  before,  until  we 
went  down  to  Brierley;  and  she  will  lose  all  she 


WHITHER  Now  ?  555 

has  gained  in  her  travelling  if  we  keep  her  here 
now." 

"  Well— I'll  see  what  I  can  do,"  said  Mr.  Copley, 
rising  from  the  table.  "When  is  St.  Leger  com- 
ing back  ?  " 

"  How  should  I  know?  I  know  nothing  at  all 
of  his  purposes,  but  what  he  told  us." 

"  Have  you  thrown  him  over?  " 

"  I  never  took  him  up." 

"  Then  you  are  more  of  a  goose  than  I  thought 
you.  He'll  be  caught  by  that  fair  friend  of  yours, 
before  he  gets  out  of  Italy.  Good  morning  !  " 

Mr.  Copley  hurried  away ;  and  Dolly  was  left  to 
her  doubts.  What  could  so  interest  and  hold  him 
in  a  place  where  he  had  no  official  business,  where 
his  home  was  not,  and  he  had  no  natural  associa- 
tions ?  Was  it  the  attraction  of  mere  pleasure,  or 
was  it  pleasure  under  that  mischievous  false  face 
of  gain,  which  men  delight  in  and  call  speculation. 
Arid  from  speculation  proper,  carried  on  among  the 
business  haunts  of  men,  there  is  not  such  a  very 
wide  step  in  the  nature  of  things  to  the  green  level 
of  the  gaming  table.  True,  many  men  indulge  in 
the  one  variety' who  have  a  horror  of  the  other; 
but  Dolly's  father,  she  knew,  had  a  horror  of 
neither.  Stocks,  or  dice,  what  did  it  matter  ?  and 
in  both  varieties  the  men  who  played  with  him, 
she  knew  too,  would  help  their  play  with  wine. 
Against  these  combined  powers,  what  was  she? 
And  what  was  to  become  of  them  all  ? 

Part  of  the  question  was  answered  at  dinner  that 


556  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

evening.  Mr.  Copley  announced  that  Brierley  Cot- 
tage was  unoccupied  and  that  he  had  retaken  it  for 
them. 

"  Brierley !  "  cried  Mrs.  Copley.  "  Brierley !  Are 
we  going  back  there  again !  Frank,  do  you  mean 
that  we  are  to  spend  all  our  lives  apart  in  future  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,  my  dear !  If  you  will  be  so  good 
as  to  stay  with  me,  I  shall  be  very  happy." 

"  In  London !  But  you  know  very  well  I  can- 
not live  in  London." 

"  Then  you  can  go  down  to  Brierley." 

"  And  how  often  shall  you  come  there  ?  " 

"  When  the  chinks  of  business  are  wide  enough 
to  let  nie  slip  through." 

"  Business !  All  you  live  for  is  business.  Mr. 
Copley,  what  do  you  expect  is  to  become  of  Dolly, 
shut  up  in  a  cottage  down  in  the  country  ?  " 

"How  is  she  to  get  married,  you  mean?  She 
expects  a  fairy  prince  to  come  along  one  of  these 
days;  and  of  course  he  could  find  her  at  Brierley 
as  easily  as  anywhere.  It  makes  no  difference  in 
a  fairy  tale.  In  fact,  the  unlikely  places  are  just 
the  ones  where  the  princes  turn  up." 

"You  will  not  be  serious!  "  sighed  Mrs.  Copley. 

"  Serious  ?  I  am  nothing  but  serious.  The  reg- 
ular suitor,  proposed  by  the  parents,  has  offered 
himself  and  been  rejected;  and  now  there  is  noth- 
ing to  do  but  to  wait  for  the  fairy  prince." 

Poor  Mrs.  Copley  gave  it  up.  Her  husband's 
words  were  always  too  quick  for  her. 

Brierley  was  afterwards  discussed  between  her 


WHITHER  Now  ?  557 

and  Dolly.  The  proposal  was  welcome  to  neither 
of  them.  Yet  London  would  not  do  for  Mrs.  Cop- 
ley ;  she  grew  impatient  of  it  more  and  more.  And 
so,  within  a  week  after  their  arrival,  they  left  it 
and  went  down  again  to  their  old  home  in  the 
country.  It  felt  like  going  to  prison,  Mrs.  Copley 
said.  Though  the  country  was  still  full  of  sum- 
mer's wealth  and  beauty;  and  it  was  impossible 
not  to  feel  the  momentary  delight  of  the  change 
from  London.  The  little  garden  was  crowded 
with  flowers,  the  fields  all  around  rich  in  grass 
and  grain ;  the  great  trees  of  the  Park  standing  in 
their  unchanged  regal  beauty ;  the  air  sweet  as  air 
could  be,  without  orange  blossoms.  And,  yet  it 
seemed  to  the  two  ladies,  when  Mr.  Copley  left 
them  again  after  taking  them  down  to  the  cottage, 
that  they  were  shut  off  and  shut  up  in  a  respectable 
and  very  eligible  prison,  from  whence  escape  was 
doubtful. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

DOWN   HILL. 

TO  do  Mr.  Copley  justice,  he  left  the  prison  very 
well  provided  and  furnished.  The  store  closet 
and  pantry  were  stocked ;  the  house  put  in  tolerable 
order,  and  two  maids  were  taken  down.  The  old 
gardener  had  disappeared,  but  Dolly  declared  she 
would  keep  the  flowers  in  order  herself.  So  for  a 
number  of  weeks  things  really  went  not  ill  with 
them  at  Brierley.  Dolly  did  keep  the  flowers  in 
order,  and  she  did  a  great  many  other  things ;  the 
chief  of  which  however  was  attending  to  her 
mother.  How  exquisitely  she  did  this  it  would 
take  a  great  deal  of  detail  to  tell.  It  was  shewn, 
or  felt  rather,  for  a  great  part,  in  very  small  partic- 
ulars. Not  only  in  taking  care  of  her  mother's 
wardrobe  and  toilette,  like  the  most  skilled  of 
waiting  maids;  not  only  in  ordering  and  provid- 
ing her  meals  like  the  most  dainty  of  housekeepers ; 
not  only  in  tireless  reading  aloud  of  papers  and 
books,  whatever  could  be  got  to  interest  Mrs.  Cop- 
ley; these  were  part,  but  besides  these  there  were 
a  thousand  little  touches  a  day  given  to  Mrs.  Cop- 
ley's comfort,  that  even  herself  hardly  took  any 


DOWN  HILL.  559 

note  of.  Dolly's  countenance  never  was  seen  to  fall 
in  her  mother's  presence,  nor  her  spirits  perceived 
to  flag.  She  was  like  the  flowers  with  which  she 
filled  the  house  and  dressed  the  table ;  sweet  and 
fresh  and  cheery  and  lovely.  And  so  ministering, 
and  so  ministered  to,  I  cannot  say  that  the  life  of 
the  mother  and  daughter  was  other  than  a  happy 
one.  If  Mrs.  Copley  was  sensible  of  a  grievous 
want  here  and  there,  which  made  her  nervous  and 
irritable  whenever  she  thought  of  it,  the  tenderness 
of  Dolly's  soothing  and  the  contagion  of  Dolly's 
peace  were  irresistible ;  and  if  Dolly  had  a  gnawing 
subject  of  care,  which  hurt  and  pricked  and  stung 
her  perpetually,  a  cloud  of  fear  darkening  over 
her,  from  the  shadow  of  which  she  could  not  get 
free;  yet  the  loving  care  to  ward  off  both  the  pain 
and  the  fear  from  her  mother,  helped  at  least  to 
keep  her  own  heart  fresh  and  strong  to  bear  what- 
ever was  coming. 

So  in  their  little  room,  at  their  table,  or  about 
the  flowers  in  the  garden,  or  sitting  in  the  honey- 
suckle porch  reading,  the  mother  and  daughter 
were  always  together,  and  the  days  of  late  sum- 
mer and  then  of  autumn  went  by  sweetly  enough. 
And  when  the  last  roses  were  gone  and  the  honey- 
suckle vines  had  ceased  to  send  forth  their  breath 
of  fragrance,  and  leaves  turned  sear,  and  the  winds 
blew  harsh  from  the  sea,  Dolly  and  Mrs.  Copley 
made  themselves  all  the  snugger  in  the  cottage; 
and  knitting  and  reading  was  carried  on  in  the 
glow  of  a  good  fire  that  filled  all  their  little  room 


560  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

with  brightness.  They  were  ready  for  winter;  and 
winter  when  it  came  did  not  chill  them ;  the  house- 
hold life  was  warm  and  busy.  All  this  while  they 
had  the  stir  of  frequent  visits  from  Mr.  Copley,  and 
between  whiles  the  expectation  of  them.  They 
were  never  long;  he  came  and  went,  Mrs.  Copley 
said,  like  a  gust  of  wind,  with  a  rush  and  a  whistle 
and  a  roar,  and  then  was  gone,  leaving  you  to  feel 
how  still  it  was.  However,  these  gusts  of  wind 
brought  a  great  deal  of  refreshment.  Mr.  Copley 
always  came  with  his  hands  full  of  papers;  al- 
ways had  the  last  London  or  Edinburgh  Quarterly, 
and  generally  some  other  book  or  books  for  his 
wife  and  daughter  to  delight  themselves  withal. 
And  though  Dolly  was  not  always  satisfied  with 
her  father's  appearance,  yet  on  the  whole  he  gave 
her  no  new  or  increased  occasion  for  anxiety. 

So  the  autumn  and  winter  went  not  ill  away.  The 
cottage  had  no  visitors.  It  was  at  some  distance 
from  the  village,  and  in  the  village  there  was 
hardly  anybody  that  would  have  held  himself  enti- 
tled to  visit  there.  The  doctor  was  an  old  bachelor. 
The  rector  took  no  account  of  the  two  stranger 
ladies  whom  now  and  then  his  eye  roved  over  in 
service  time.  Truly  they  were  not  often  to  be 
seen  in  his  church,  for  the  distance  was  too  far 
for  Mrs.  Copley  to  walk,  unless  in  exceptionally 
good  days;  when  the  weather  and  the  footing  and 
her  own  state  of  body  and  mind  were  in  rare  har- 
mony over  the  undertaking.  There  was  nobody 
else  to  take  notice  of  them,  and  nobody  did  take 


DOWN  HILL.  561 

notice  of  them;  and  in  process  of  time  it  came  to 
pass,  not  unnaturally,  that  Mrs.  Copley  began  to 
get  tired  of  living  alone.  For  though  it  is  extreme- 
ly pleasant  to  be  quiet,  yet  it  remains  true  that  man, 
was  made  a  social  animal;  and  if  he  is  in  a  healthy 
condition  he  craves  contact  with  his  fellows.  As 
the  winter  wore  away,  some  impression  of  this  sort 
seemed  to  force  itself  upon  Mrs.  Copley. 

"I  wonder  what  your  father  is  dreaming  of!" 
she  said  one  day,  when  she  had  sat  for  some  time 
looking  at  Dolly  who  was  drawing.  "  He  seems 
to  think  it  quite  natural  that  you  should  live  down 
here  at  this  cottage,  year  in  and  year  out,  like  a 
toad  in  a  hole ;  with  no  more  life  or  society.  We 
might  as  well  be  shut  up  in  a  nunnery,  only  then 
there  would  be  more  of  us.  I  never  heard  of  a 
nunnery  with  only  two  nuns." 

"  Are  you  getting  tired  of  it,  mother  ?  " 

"Tired! — that  isn't  the  word.  I  think  I  am 
growing  stupid,  and  gradually  losing  my  wits." 

"We  have  not  been  a  bit  stupid  this  winter, 
mother  dear." 

"We  haven't  seen  anybody." 

"  The  family  are  soon  coming  to  Brierley  House, 
Mrs.  Jersey  says.  I  dare  say  you  will  see  some- 
body then." 

"  I  don't  believe  we  shall.  The  English  don't 
like  strangers,  I  tell  you,  Dolly,  unless  they  come 
recommended  by  something  or  other; — and  there 
is  nothing  to  recommend  us." 

Mrs.  Copley  uttered  this  last  sentence  with  such 
37 


502  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

a  dismal  sort  of  realization,  that  Dolly  laughed 
oat. 

"  You  are  too  modest,  mother.  I  do  not  believe 
things  are  as  bad  as  that." 

"  You  will  see,"  said  her  mother.  "  And  I  hope 
you  will  stop  going  to  see  the  housekeeper  then." 

"  1  do  not  know  why  I  should,"  said  Dolly  quietly. 

However,  this  question  began  to  occupy  her; 
not  the  question  of  her  visiting  Mrs.  Jersey  or  of 
any  one  else  visiting  them ;  but  this  prolonged  liv- 
ing alone  to  which  her  mother  and  she  seemed  to  be 
condemned.  It  was  not  good,  and  it  was  not  right ; 
and  Dolly  saw  that  it  was  beginning  to  work  un- 
favourably upon  Mrs.  Copley's  health  and  spirits. 
But  London  ?  and  a  lodging  house  ?  That  would  be 
worse  yet ;  and  for  a  house  to  themselves  in  London 
Dolly  did  not  believe  the  means  were  at  hand. 

Lately  things  had  been  less  promising.  Mr. 
Copley  seemed  to  be  not  so  ready  with  his  money ; 
and  he  did  not  look  well.  Yes,  he  was  well,  he 
said  when  she  asked  him;  nevertheless,  her  anx- 
ious eye  read  the  old  signs.  She  had  not  noticed 
them  during  the  winter,  or  but  slightly  and  rarely. 
Whether  Mr.  Copley  had  been  making  a  vigorous 
effort  to  be  as  good  as  his  word  and  spare  Dolly 
pain;  whether  his  sense  of  character  had  asserted 
itself,  whether  he  had  been  so  successful  in  specu- 
lation or  play  that  he  did  not  need  opiates  and 
could  do  without  irritants ;  I  do  not  know.  There 
had  been  an  interval.  Now  Dolly  began  to  be 
conscious  again  of  the  loss  of  freshness,  the  undue 


DOWN  HILL.  563 

flush,  the  weak  eyes,  the  unsteady  mouth,  the  un- 
even gait.  A  stranger  as  yet  might  have  passed 
it  all  by  without  notice;  Dolly  knew  the  change 
from  her  father's  former  quick,  confident  move- 
ments, iron  nerves  and  muscular  activity.  And 
what  was  almost  worse  than  all  to  her,  among  in- 
dications of  his  being  entered  on  a  downward 
course,  she  noticed  that  now  he  avoided  her  eye; 
looked  at  her,  but  preferred  not  meeting  her  look. 
I  cannot  tell  how  dreadful  this  was  to  Dolly.  She 
had  been  always  accustomed,  until  lately,  to  re- 
spect her  father  and  to  see  him  respected;  to  look 
at  him  as  holding  his  place  among  men  with  much 
more  than  the  average  of  influence  and  power;  he 
was  apt  to  do  what  he  wished  to  do,  and  also  to 
make  other  men  do  it.  He  was  recognized  as  a 
leader  in  all  parties  and  plans  in  which  he  took 
any  share ;  Mr.  Copley's  word  was  quoted  and  Mr. 
Copley's  lead  was  followed;  and  as  is  the  case  with 
all  such  men,  his  confidence  in  himself  had  been 
one  of  his  sources  of  power  and  means  of  success. 
Dolly  had  been  all  her  life  accustomed  to  this  as 
the  natural  and  normal  condition  of  things.  Now 
she  saw  that  her  father  had  ceased  to  respect  him- 
self. The  agony  this  revelation  brought  to  Mr. 
Copley's  loyal  little  daughter,  it  is  impossible  to 
tell.  She  felt  it  almost  unbearable,  shrank  from 
it,  would  have  closed  her  eyes  to  it;  but  Dolly  was 
one  of  those  whose  vision  is  not  clouded  but  rather 
made  more  keen  by  affection;  and  she  failed  to  see 
nothing  that  was  before  her. 


564  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

The  ministry  Dolly  applied  to  this  new  old  trouble 
was  of  the  most  exquisite  kind.  Without  making 
it  obtrusive,  she  bestowed  upon  her  father  a  sort 
of  service  the  like  of  which  not  all  the  interest  of 
courts  can  obtain  for  their  kings.  She  was  tender 
of  him,  with  a  tenderness  that  came  like  the 
touch  of  a  soft  summer  wind;  coming  and  going, 
and  coming  again.  It  calls  for  no  answer  or  re- 
turn; only  it  is  there  with  its  blessing,  comforting 
tired  nerves  and  soothing  ruffled  spirits.  Mr.  Cop- 
ley hardly  knew  what  Dolly  was  doing;  hardly 
knew  that  it  was  Dolly;  when  now  it  was  a  gen- 
tle touch  on  his  arm,  leading  him  to  the  tea-table, 
and  now  a  specially  prepared  cup,  and  Dolly  bring- 
ing it,  and  standing  before  him  smiling  and  tasting 
it,  looking  at  him  over  it.  And  Mr.  Copley  cer- 
tainly thought  at  such  times  that  a  prettier  vision 
was  not  to  be  seen  in  the  whole  united  kingdom. 
Another  time  she  would  perch  herself  upon  his 
knee  and  stroke  back  his  hair  from  his  temples, 
with  fingers  so  delicate  it  was  like  the  touch  of  a 
fairy;  and  then  sometimes  she  would  lay  her  head 
caressingly  down  on  his  shoulder;  and  though  at 
such  times  Dolly  could  willingly  have  broken  her 
heart  in  weeping,  she  let  Mr.  Copley  see  nothing 
but  smiles,  and  suffered  scarce  so  much  as  a  stray 
sigh  to  come  to  his  ear. 

"  Have  you  seen  anything  of  the  great  people  ?  " 
he  asked  one  evening,  when  Dolly  had  moved  his 
sudden  admiration. 

"  Do  you  mean  the  people  at  the  House  ? "  his 


DOWN  HILL.  565 

wife  said.  "  No,  of  course.  Don't  you  know,  Mr. 
Copley,  you  must  be  great  yourself  to  have  the 
great  look  at  you." 

"  Humph !  There  are  different  ways  of  being 
great.  I  shouldn't  wonder,  now,  if  you  could 
shew  Lady  Brierley  as  much  as  Lady  Brierley 
could  shew  you — in  some  ways." 

"What  extravagant  notions  you  do  have,  Frank," 
said  his  wife.  "  You  are  so  much  of  an  American, 
you  forget  everybody  around  you  is  English." 

"Lady  Brierley  has  been  only  a  little  while  come 
home,"  said  Dolly.  "  We  need  not  discuss  her 
yet." 

And  so  speaking,  Dolly  brought  out  the  Bible. 
The  reading  with  her  mother  had  become  a  regu- 
lar thing  now,  greatly  helpful  to  Mrs.  Copley's 
good  rest,  Dolly  believed,  both  by  day  and  night ; 
and  latterly  when  he  had  been  at  the  cottage  her 
father  had  not  run  away  when  she  brought  her 
book.  Alone  with  her  mother,  Dolly  had  long 
since  added  prayer  to  the  reading;  not  yet  in  her 
father's  presence.  Her  heart  beat  a  little,  it  cost 
an  effort ;  all  the  same  Dolly  knew  it  must  now  be 
done.  With  a  grave  little  face  she  brought  out 
her  Bible,  laid  it  on  the  table,  and  opened  it  at  the 
fifth  chapter  of  Matthew. 

"  Here  comes  our  domestic  chaplain ! "  said  her 
father.  Dolly  looked  up  at  him  and  smiled. 

"Then  of  course  you  would  not  interfere  with 
anything  the  chaplain  does?"  she  said. 

"  Only  not  preach,"  said  her  father  in  the  same 


566  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

tone.  "  I  don't  approve  of  any  but  licensed  preach- 
ing. And  that  one  need  not  hear  unless  one  has  a 
mind  to." 

"  I  let  the  Bible  do  the  preaching,  generally," 
said  Dolly.  "But  we  do  pray,  father." 

"Who?"  said  Mr.  Copley  quickly.  "Your  moth- 
er and  you  ?  Everybody  prays,  I  hope,  now  and 
then." 

"We  do  it  now,  and  then  too,  father.  Or  rather, 
I  do  it  now,  after  reading." 

Mr.  Copley  made  no  reply;  and  Dolly  went  on, 
feeling  that  the  way  was  open  to  her,  if  it  were 
also  a  little  difficult  to  tread.  She  read  part  of  the 
chapter,  feeling  every  word  through  and  through. 
Alas,  alas,  alas!  The  "poor  in  spirit,"  the  "pure 
in  heart,"  the  "meek," — where  were  these?  and 
what  had  their  blessing  to  do  with  the  ears  to 
which  she  was  reading  ?  The  "  persecuted  for 
righteousness'  sake," — how  she  knew  her  father 
and  mother  would  lay  that  off  upon  the  martyrs 
of  olden  time,  with  whom  and  their  way  of  life, 
they  thought,  the  present  time  has  nothing  to  do ! 
and  so,  with  the  persecuted  dismiss  the  meek  and 
the  pure.  The  blessings  referred  certainly  to  a 
peculiar  set  of  persons;  no  one  is  called  on  in 
these  days  to  endure  persecution.  Dolly  knew 
how  they  would  escape  applying  what  they  heard 
to  themselves;  and  she  knew,  with  her  heart  full, 
what  they  were  missing  thereby.  She  went  on, 
feeling  every  word  so  thrillingly  that  it  was  no 
wonder  they  came  from  her  lips  with  a  very 


DOWN  HILL.  5G7 

peculiar  and  moving  utterance;  that  is  the  way 
with  words  that  are  spoken  from  the  heart;  and 
although  indeed  the  lovely  sentences  might  have 
passed  by  her  hearers,  as  trite  or  unintelligible  or 
obsolete,  the  inflexions  of  Dolly's  voice  caught  the 
hearts  of  both  parents  and  stirred  them  involun- 
tarily with  an  answering  thrill.  She  did  not  know- 
it;  she  did  know  that  they  were  very  still  and  lis- 
tening; and  after  the  reading  was  done,  though  she 
trembled  a  little,  her  own  feelings  were  so  roused 
that  it  was  not  very  difficult  for  Dolly  to  kneel 
down  by  the  table  and  pray. 

But  she  had  only  scanty  opportunities  of  work- 
ing upon  her  father  in  this  or  in  any  way;  Mr. 
Copley's  visits  to  Brierley,  always  short,  began 
now  to  be  more  and  more  infrequent. 

As  weeks  went  on  arid  the  spring  slipped  by, 
another  thing  was  unmistakeable  about  these  vis- 
its; Mr.  Copley  brought  less  money  with  him. 
Through  the  autumn  and  winter,  the  needs  of  the 
little  household  had  been  indifferently  well  sup- 
plied. Dolly  had  paid  her  servants  and  had  money 
for  her  butcher  and  grocer.  Now  this  was  no  long- 
er always  the  case.  Mr.  Copley  came  sometimes 
with  empty  pockets  and  a  very  thin  pocketbook; 
he  had  forgotten,  he  said;  or,  he  would  make  it  all 
right  next  time.  Which  Dolly  found  out  he  never 
did.  Her  servants'  wages  began  to  get  in  arrear, 
and  Dolly  herself  consequently  into  anxious  per- 
plexity. She  had,  she  knew,  a  little  private  stock 
of  her  own,  gained  by  her  likenesses  and  other 


568  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

drawings;  but  like  a  wise  little  woman  as  she  was, 
Dolly  resolved  she  would  not  touch  it  unless  she 
came  to  extremity.  But  what  should  she  do?  Just 
one  thing  she  was  clear  upon;  she  would  not  run 
in  debt;  she  would  not  have  what  she  could  not 
pay  for.  She  paid  off  one  servant  and  dismissed 
her.  This  could  not  happen  without  the  knowl- 
edge of  Mrs.  Copley. 

"  But  however  are  you  going  to  manage  ?  "  the 
latter  asked  in  much  concern. 

"Honestly,  mother.  0  and  nicely  too.  You 
will  see.  I  must  be  a  poor  thing  if  I  could  not 
keep  these  little  rooms  in  order." 

"And  make  beds?  and  set  tables?  and  wash 
dishes  ?  " 

41 1  like  to  set  tables.  And  what  is  it  to  wash 
two  cups  and  spoons?  And  if  I  make  the  beds, 
we  shall  have  them  comfortable." 

"  Jane  certainly  had  her  own  ideas  about  mak- 
ing beds,  and  they  were  different  from  mine,"  said 
Mrs.  Copley.  "  But  I  hate  to  have  you,  Dolly. 
It  will  make  your  hands  red  and  rough." 

"Nothing  does  that  for  my  hands  luckily,  mother 
dear.  Don't  you  mind.  We  shall  get  on  nicely." 

"But  what's  the  matter?  haven't  you  got  money 
enough?" 

"  Mother,  I  won't  have  servants  that  I  cannot 
pay  punctually." 

"  Don't  your  father  give  you  money  to  pay 
them  ?  " 

"  He  gave  me  money  enough  to  pay  part ;  so  I 


DOWN  HILL.  569 

pay  part,  and  send  the  other  part  away,"  said 
Dolly,  gaily. 

"  I  hope  he  has  not  got  into  speculation  again," 
said  Mrs.  Copley.  "  I  can't  think  what  he  busies 
himself  about  in  London." 

This  subject  Dolly  changed  as  fast  as  she 
could.  She  feared  something  worse  than  specu- 
lation. Whether  it  were  cards,  or  dice,  or  bet- 
ting, or  more  business-like  forms  of  the  vice,  how- 
ever, the  legitimate  consequences  were  not  slow  to 
come ;  the  supply  of  money  for  the  little  household 
down  at  Brierley  became  like  the  driblets  of  a 
stream  which  has  been  led  off  from  its  proper  bed 
by  a  side  channel;  only  a  few  trickling  drops  in- 
stead of  the  full,  natural  current.  Dolly  could  not 
get  from  her  father  the  means  to  pay  the  wages  of 
her  remaining  servant.  This  was  towards  the  be- 
ginning of  summer. 

Dolly  pondered  now  very  seriously  what  she 
should  do.  The  lack  of  a  housemaid  she  had 
made  up  quite  comfortably  with  her  own  two  busy 
hands;  Mrs.  Copley  at  least  had  been  in  particular 
comfort,  whenever  she  did  not  get  a  fit  of  fretting 
on  Dolly's  account;  and  Dolly  herself  had  been 
happy,  though  unquestionably  the  said  hands  had 
been  very  busy.  Now  what  lay  before  her  was  an- 
other thing.  She  could  not  consult  her  mother, 
and  there  was  nobody  else  to  consult;  she  must 
even  make  up  her  mind  as  to  the  line  of  duty  the 
best  way  she  might;  and  however  the  difficulty 
and  even  the  impossibility  of  doing  without  any- 


570  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

body  stared  her  in  the  face,  it  was  constantly  met 
by  the  greater  impossibility  of  taking  what  she 
could  not  pay  for.  Dolly  made  up  her  mind  on 
the  negative  view  of  the  case;  what  she  could 
being  not  clear,  only  what  she  could  not.  She 
would  dismiss  her  remaining  servant,  and  do  the 
cooking  herself.  It  would  be  only  for  two.  And 
perhaps,  she  thought,  this  step  would  go  further 
to  bring  her  father  to  his  senses  than  any  other 
step  she  could  take. 

Dolly  however  went  wisely  to  work.  Quite 
alone  in  the  house  she  and  her  mother  could  not 
be.  She  went  to  her  friend  Mrs.  Jersey  and  talked 
the  matter  over  with  her;  and  through  her  got  a 
little  girl,  a  small  farmer's  daughter,  to  come  and 
do  the  rough  work.  She  let  her  mother  know  as 
little  as  possible  about  the  matter;  she  took  some 
of  her  own  little  stock  and  paid  off  the  cook, 
representing  to  her  mother  no  more  than  that 
she  had  exchanged  the  one  helpmeet  for  the 
other.  But  poor  Dolly  found  presently  that  she 
did  not  know  how  to  cook.  How  should  she  ? 

"  What's  become  of  all  our  good  bread  ? "  said 
Mrs.  Copley,  a  day  or  two  after  the  change. 
"And  Dolly,  I  don't  know  what  you  call  this, 
but  if  it  is  meant  for  hash,  it  is  a  mistake." 

Dolly  heard  in  awed  silence;  and  when  dinner 
and  breakfast  had  seen  repeated  animadversions  of 
the  like  kind,  she  made  up  her  mind  again  and 
took  her  measures.  She  went  to  her  friend  Mrs. 
Jersey,  and  asked  her  to  teach  her  to  make  bread. 


DOWN  HILL.  571 

"To  make  bread!"  the  good  housekeeper  re- 
peated in  astonishment.  "You,  Miss  Dolly?  Can 
that  be  necessary  ?  " 

"Mother  cannot  eat  poor  bread,"  said  Dolly  sim- 
ply. "And  there  is  nobody  but  me  to  make  it. 
I  think  I  can  learn,  Mrs.  Jersey ;  cannot  I  ?  " 

The  tears  stood  in  the  good  woman's  eyes. 
"But  my  dear  Miss  Dolly,"  she  began  anxiously, 
"  this  is  a  serious  matter.  You  do  not  look  very 
strong.  Who  does  the  rest  of  the  cooking?  Par- 
don me  for  being  so  bold  to  ask;  but  I  am  con- 
cerned about  you." 

Therewith  Dolly's  own  eyes  became  moist;  how- 
ever, it  would  never  do  to  take  that  tone;  so  she 
shook  off  the  feeling,  and  confessed  she  was  the 
sole  cook  in  her  mother's  establishment,  and  that 
for  her  mother's  well-doing  it  was  quite  needful 
that  what  she  eat  should  be  good  and  palatable. 
And  Dolly  declared  she  would  like  to  know  how 
to  do  things,  and  be  independent. 

"You've  got  the  realest  sort  of  independence," 
said  the  housekeeper.  "  Well,  my  dear,  come,  and 
I'll  teach  you  all  you  want  to  know." 

There  followed  now  a  series  of  visits  to  the 
House,  in  which  Mrs.  Jersey  thoroughly  fulfilled 
her  promise.  In  the  kind  housekeeper's  room 
Dolly  learned  not  only  to  make  bread  and  biscuit 
and  everything  else  that  can  be  concocted  of  flour ; 
but  she  was  taught  how  to  cook  a  bit  of  beefsteak, 
how  to  broil  a  chicken,  how  to  make  omelettes  and 
salads  and  a  number  of  delicate  French  dishes; 


572  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

stews  and  soups  and  ragouts  and  no  end  of  com- 
fortable things.  Dolly  was  in  great  earnest,  there- 
fore lost  not  a  hint  and  never  forgot  a  direction ; 
she  was  quick  and  keen  to  learn ;  and  Mrs.  Jersey 
soon  declared  laughingly  that  she  believed  she  was 
born  to  be  a  cook. 

"And  it  goes  great  qualities  to  that,  Miss  Dolly," 
she  said.  "You  needn't  take  it  as  low  praise. 
There  are  people  no  doubt  that  are  nothing  but 
cooks;  that's  the  fault  of  something  else,  I  al- 
ways believe.  Whoever  can  be  a  real  cook  can 
be  something  better  if  he  has  a  chance  and  a 
will." 

"It  seems  to  me,  it  is  just  common  sense,  Mrs. 
Jersey." 

"  I  suppose  you  are  not  going  to  tell  me  that  that 
grows  on  every  bush  ?  Yes,  common  sense  has  a 
great  deal  to  do,  no  doubt;  but  one  must  have  an- 
other sort  of  sense;  one  must  know  when  a  thing 
is  right;  and  one  must  be  able  to  tell  the  moment 
of  time  when  it  is  right,  and  then  one  must  be  de- 
cided and  quick  to  take  it  then  and  not  let  it  have 
the  other  moment  which  would  make  it  all  wrong. 
Now,  Miss  Dolly,  I  see  you  know  when  to  take  off 
an  omelette — and  yet  you  couldn't  tell  me  how  you 
know." 

Dolly's  learning  was  indeed  by  practising  with 
her  own  hands.  One  day  it  happened  that  Lady 
Brierley  had  come  into  the  housekeeper's  room  to 
see  about  some  arrangements  she  was  making  for 
Mrs.  Jersey's  comfort.  While  she  was  there,  Dolly 


DOWN  HILL.  573 

opened  the  door  from  an  adjoining  light  closet, 
with  her  sleeves  rolled  up  to  her  elbows  and  her 
arms  dusted  with  flour.  Seeing  somebody  whom 
she  did  not  know,  Dolly  retreated,  shutting  the 
door  after  her. 

"  Whom  have  you  got  there,  Mrs.  Jersey?"  said 
the  lady,  forgetting  what  she  had  come  about. 
"That  girl  is  too  handsome  to  be  among  the 
rnaids." 

"She's  not  among  the  maids,  my  lady.  She  is 
not  in  the  house.  She  only  came  to  get  some  in- 
struction from  me,  which  I  was  very  glad  to  give 
her?" 

"  Of  course.  That  is  quite  in  your  way.  But 
she  does  not  belong  in  the  village,  I  think  ?  " 

"No,  my  lady,  nor  hereabouts  at  all,  properly. 
She  lives  in  Brierley  Cottage;  she  and  her  mother; 
I  believe  the  father  is  there  now  and  by  times,  but 
they  live  alone  mostly,  and  he  is  in  London.  They 
have  been  much  better  off;  and  last  year  they  went 
travelling  all  through  Europe.  I  thought  I  should 
never  see  them  again;  but  here  they  are  back,  and 
have  been  for  a  year." 

"I  think  I  have  heard  of  them.  Are  they 
poor?" 

"  I  am  much  afraid  so,  my  lady." 

"Would  it  do  any  good,  Jersey,  if  I  went 
there  ?  " 

"It  would  be  a  great  kindness,  my  lady.  I  think 
it  might  do  good." 

The  final  result  of  all  which  was  a  visit.     It  was 


574  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

now  full  summer;  the  season  had  come  into  its 
full  bloom  and  luxuriance.  Roses  were  opening 
their  sweet  buds  all  around  Brierley  Cottage;  the 
honeysuckles  made  the  porch  into  an  arbour;  the 
garden  was  something  of  a  wilderness,  but  a  wil- 
derness of  lovely  old-fashioned  things.  One  warm 
afternoon,  Dolly  with  a  shears  in  her  hand  had 
gone  out  into  the  garden  to  cut  off  the  full-blown 
roses  which  to-morrow  would  shed  their  leaves; 
doing  a  little  trimming  by  the  way,  both  of  rose- 
bushes and  other  things ;  the  wildering  of  the  gar- 
den had  been  so  great.  And  very  busy  she  was, 
and  enjoying  it;  "cutting  in"  here,  and  "cutting 
out"  there,  flinging  the  i-efuse  shoots  and  twigs 
carelessly  from  her  into  the  walk  to  be  gathered 
up  afterwards.  She  was  so  busy  she  never  heard 
the  roll  of  carriage  wheels,  never  heard  them  stop, 
nor  the  gate  open;  knew  nothing,  in  fact,  but  the 
work  she  was  busy  with,  till  a  slight  sound  on  the 
gravel  near  by  made  her  look  round.  Then  she 
saw  at  one  glance  the  lady  standing  there  in  laces 
and  feathers,  the  carriage  waiting  outside  the  gate, 
and  the  servants  in  attendance  around  it.  Dolly 
shook  herself  free  of  the  roses  and  stepped  forward, 
knowing  very  well  who  it  must  be.  A  little  fresh 
colour  had  been  brought  into  her  cheeks  by  her  ex- 
ercise and  the  interest  in  her  work;  a  little  extra 
flush  came  now,  with  the  surprise  of  this  appari- 
tion. She  was  as  lovely  as  one  of  her  own  rose 
branches,  and  the  wind  had  blown  her  hair  about, 
which  was  always  wayward,  we  know,  giving  per 


DOWN  HILL.  575 

haps  to  the  great  lady  the  impression  of  equal  want 
of  training.  But  she  was  very  lovely,  and  the  vis- 
iter  could  not  take  her  eyes  off  her. 

"  You  are  Miss — Copley  ?  "  she  said.  "  I  have 
heard  Mrs.  Jersey  speak  of  you." 

"  Mrs.  Jersey  is  a  very  kind  friend  to  me,"  said 
Dolly.  "  Will  Lady  Brierley  walk  in  ?  " 

Mrs.  Jersey  is  her  friend,  thought  the  lady  as 
she  followed  Dolly  into  the  cottage.  Probably  she 
is  just  of  that  level,  and  my  coming  is  thrown  away. 
However  she  went  in.  The  little  cottage  sitting 
room  was  again  something  of  a  puzzle  to  her;  it 
was  not  rich,  but  neither  did  it  look  like  anything 
Mrs.  Jersey  would  have  contrived  for  her  owu 
accommodation.  Flowers  filled  the  chimney  and 
stood  in  vases  or  baskets ;  books  lay  on  one  table, 
on  the  other  drawing  materials;  and  simple  as 
everything  was,  there  was  nevertheless  in  every- 
thing the  evidence,  negative  as  well  as  positive, 
that  the  tastes  at  home  there  were  refined  and 
delicate  and  cultivated.  It  is  difficult  to  tell  just 
how  the  impression  comes  upon  a  stranger,  but  it 
came  upon  Lady  Brierley  before  she  had  taken  her 
seat.  Dolly  too,  the  more  she  looked  at  her,  puz- 
zled her.  She  had  set  down  her  basket  of  roses 
and  thrown  off  her  garden  hat,  and  now  opened 
the  blinds  which  shaded  the  room  too  much,  and 
took  a  chair  near  her  visiter.  The  girl's  manner, 
the  lady  saw,  was  extremely  composed;  she  did 
not  seem  at  all  fluttered  at  the  honour  done  her, 
and  offered  her  attentions  with  a  manner  of  simple 


576  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

courtesy  which  was  graceful  enough  but  perfectly 
cool.  So  cool,  that  it  rather  excited  Lady  Brier- 
ley's  curiosity,  who  was  accustomed  to  be  a  person 
of  great  importance  wherever  she  went.  Her  eye 
took  in  swiftly  the  neatness  of  the  room,  its  plain- 
ness, and  yet  its  expression  of  life  and  mental  ac- 
tivity; the  work  and  workbasket  on  the  chair,  the 
bunch  of  ferns  and  amaranthus  in  one  vase,  the 
roses  in  another,  the  violets  on  the  table,  the  phys- 
iognomy of  the  books,  which  were  not  from  the 
next  circulating  library,  the  drawing  materials;  and 
then  came  back  to  the  figure  seated  before  her,  with 
the  tossed  beautiful  hair  and  the  very  delicate,  spir- 
ited face;  and  it  crossed  Lady  Brierley's  mind^  if 
she  had  a  daughter  like  that ! — with  the  advan- 
tages and  bringing  up  she  could  have  given  her, 
what  would  she  not  have  been !  And  the  next 
thought  was,  she  was  glad  that  her  son  was  in 
Russia.  Dolly  had  opened  the  window  and  sat 
quietly  down.  She  knew  her  mother  would  not 
wish  to  be  called.  Once,  months  ago,  Dolly  had  a 
little  hoped  for  this  visit,  and  thought  it  might 
bring  her  a  pleasant  friend,  or  social  acquaintance 
at  least;  now  that  so  long  time  had  passed  since 
Lady  Brierley's  return,  with  no  sign  of  kindness 
from  the  great  house,  she  had  given  up  any  such 
expectation;  and  so  cared  nothing  about  the  visit. 
Dolly's  mind  was  stayed  elsewhere;  she  did  not 
need  Lady  Brierley;  and  it  was  in  part  the  beauti- 
ful disengaged  grace  of  her  manner  which  drew 
the  lady's  curiosity. 


DOWN  HILL.  577 

"  I  did  not  know  Brierley  Cottage  was  such  a 
pretty  place,"  she  began. 

"  It  is  quite  comfortable,"  said  Dolly.  "  Now  in 
summer,  when  the  flowers  are  out,  I  think  it  is 
very  pretty." 

"  You  are  fond  of  flowers.  I  found  you  pruning 
your  rose-bushes,  were  you  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Dolly.  "  The  old  man  who  used  to 
attend  to  it  has  left  me  in  the  lurch  since  we  went 
away.  If  I  did  not  trim  them,  they  would  go  un- 
trimmed.  They  do  go  untrimmed,  as  it  is." 

"  Is  there  no  skill  required  ?  " 

"O  yes,"  said  Dolly,  her  face  wrinkling  all  up 
with  fun ;  "  but  I  have  enough  for  that.  I  have 
learned  so  much.  And  pruning  is  very  pretty 
work.  This  is  not  just  the  time  for  it." 

"How  can  it  be  pretty?  I  do  not  under- 
stand." 

"  No,  I  suppose  not,"  said  Dolly.  "  But  I  think 
it  is  pretty  to  cut  out  the  dead  wood  which  is  un- 
sightly, and  cut  away  the  old  wood  which  can  be 
spared,  leaving  the  best  shoots  for  blossoming  the 
next  year.  And  then  the  trimming  in  of  over- 
grown bushes,  so  as  to  have  neat,  compact,  grace- 
ful shrubs,  instead  of  wild  awkward-growing  things 
— it  is  constant  pleasure,  for  every  touch  tells;  and 
the  rose-bushes,  I  believe  seem  almost  like  intelli- 
gent creatures  to  me." 

"  But  you  would  not  deal  with  intelligent  creat- 
ures so  ?  " 

"  The  Lord  does," — said  Dolly  quietly. 
37 


578  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  said  the  lady  sharply. 
"  I  do  not  understand  your  meaning." 

"  I  did  not  mean  that  all  people  were  rose-bushes," 
said  Dolly,  with  again  an  exquisite  gleam  of  amuse- 
ment in  her  face. 

"  But  will  you  not  be  so  good  as  to  explain  ? 
What  can  you  mean,  by  your  former  remark  ?  " 

"  It  is  not  a  very  deep  meaning,"  said  Dolly 
with  a  little  sigh.  "You  know,  Lady  Brierley, 
the  Bible  likens  the  Lord's  people,  Christians,  to 
plants  in  the  Lord's  garden;  and  the  Lord  is  the 
husbandman;  and  where  he  sees  that  a  plant  is 
growing  too  rank  and  wild,  he  prunes  it — cuts  it 
in — that  it  may  be  thriftier  and  healthier  and  do 
its  work  better." 

"  That's  a  dreadful  idea !  Where  did  you  get 
it?" 

"  Christ  said  so,"  Dolly  answered,  looking  now 
in  the  face  of  her  questioner.  "  Is  it  a  dreadful 
idea  ?  It  does  not  seem  so  to  me.  He  is  the  Hus- 
bandman. And  I  would  not  like  to  be  a  useless 
branch." 

"  You  have  been  on  the  continent  lately  ? " 
Lady  Brierley  quitted  the  former  subject. 

"Yes;  last  year." 

"  You  went  to  my  old  lodging  house  at  Sorrento, 
I  think  I  heard  from  Mrs.  Jersey.  Did  you  find  it 
comfortable  ?  " 

"  0  delightful !  "  said  Dolly  with  a  breath  which 
told  much.  "Nothing  could  be  nicer,  or  lovelier." 

"  Then  you  enjoyed  life  in  Italy  ?  " 


DOWN  HILL.  579 

"  Very  mjuch.  But  indeed  I  enjoyed  it  every- 
where." 

"What  gave  you  so  much  pleasure?  I  envy 
you.  Now  I  go  all  over  Europe,  and  find  nothing 
particular  to  hold  me  anywhere.  And  I  see  by  the 
way  you  speak  that  it  was  not  so  with  you." 

"  No — "  said  Dolly  half  smiling.  "  Europe  was 
like  a  great,  real  fairyland  to  me.  I  feel  as  if  I 
had  been  travelling  in  fairyland." 

"Do  indulge  me  and  tell  me  how  that  was? 
The  novelty,  perhaps." 

"  Novelty  is  pleasant  enough,"  said  Dolly,  "  but 
I  do  not  think  it  was  the  novelty.  Some  was 
more  fascinating  the  last  week  than  it  was  the 
first." 

"  Ah,  Rome !  there  one  never  gets  to  the  end  of 
the  novelties." 

"  It  was  not  that,"  said  Dolly  shaking  her  head. 
"I  grew  absolutely  fond  of  the  gladiator;  and 
Raphael's  Michael  conquering  the  dragon*was  much 
more  beautiful  to  me  the  last  time  I  saw  it  than 
ever  it  was  before;  and  so  of  a  thousand  other 
things.  They  seemed  to  grow  into  my  heart.  So 
at  Venice.  The  palace  of  the  doges — I  did  not 
appreciate  it  at  first.  It  was  only  by  degrees  that  I 
learned  to  appi-eciate  it." 

"  Your  taste  for  art  has  been  uncommonly 
cultivated !  " 

«  No—"  said  Dolly.  "  I  do  not  know  anything 
about  art.  Till  this  journey  I  had  never  seen 
much." 


580  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"There  is  a  little  to  see  at  Brierley,"  said  the 
lady  of  the  house.  "  I  should  like  to  shew  it  to 
you." 

"  I  should  like  dearly  to  see  it  again,"  said  Dolly. 
"Your  ladyship  is  very  kind.  Mrs.  Jersey  did 
shew  me  the  house  once,  when  we  first  came  here; 
and  I  was  delighted  with  some  of  the  pictures,  and 
the  old  carvings.  It  was  all  so  unlike  anything  at 
home." 

"  At  home  ?  "  said  Lady  Brierley  enquiringly. 

"  I  mean,  in  America." 

"Novelty  again,"  said  the  lady  smiling,  for  she 
could  not  help  liking  Dolly. 

"No,"  said  Dolly,  "not  that.  It  was  far  more 
than  that.  It  was  the  real  beauty, — and  then,  it 
was  the  tokens  of  a  family  which  had  had  power 
enough  to  write  its  history  all  along. ,  There  was 
the  power,  and  the  history;  and  suph  a  strange 
breath  of  other  days.  There  is  nothing  like  that  in 
America.'' 

"  Then  we  shall  keep  you  in  England  ? "  said 
Lady  Brierley,  still  with  a  pleased  smile. 

"  I  do  not  know — "  said  Dolly ;  but  her  face 
clouded  over  and  lost  the  brightness  which  had 
been  in  it  a  moment  before. 

"  I  see  you  would  rather  return,"  said  her  visiter. 
"  Perhaps  you  have  not  been  long  enough  here  to 
feel  at  home  with  us  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  here  .for  several  years,"  said  Dolly. 
"  Ever  since  I  was  fifteen  years  old." 

"That  is  long  enough  to  make  friends." 


DOWN  HILL.  581 

"I  have  not  made  friends,"  said  Dolly.  "My 
mother's  health  has  kept  her  at  home — and  I  have 
staid  with  her." 

"  But  my  dear,  you  are  just  at  an  age  when  it 
is  natural  to  want  friends  and  to  enjoy  them.  In 
later  life  one  learns  to  be  sufficient  to  oneself;  but 
not  at  eighteen.  I  am  afraid  Brierley  must  be 
sadly  lonely  to  you." 

"0  no,"  said  Dolly,  with  her  sweet  gleam  of  a 
smile,  which  went  all  over  her  face; — "I  am  not 
lonesome." 

"  Will  you  come  and  see  me  sometimes  ?  " 

"  If  I  can.     Thank  you,  Lady  Brierley." 

"  You  seem  to  me  to  be  a  good  deal  of  a  philos- 
opher," said  the  lady,  who  evidently  still  found 
Dolly  a  puzzle.  "  Or  is  it  rather  an  artist, 
that  I  should  say  ? "  Glancing  at  the  drawing 
table.  "  I  know  artists  are  very  sufficient  to 
themselves." 

"  I  am  neither  one  nor  the  other,"  said  Dolly 
laughing. 

"  You  are  not  apathetic — I  can  see  that.  What 
is  your  secret,  Miss  Copley  ?  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon — what  secret  does  your  lady- 
ship mean  ?  " 

"  Your  secret  of  content  and  self-reliance.  Par- 
don me — but  you  excite  my  envy  and  curiosity  at 
once." 

Dolly's  look  went  back  to  the  fire.  "  I  have  no 
secret,"  she  said  gravely.  "  I  am  not  a  philoso- 
pher. I  am  afraid  I  am  not  always  contented. 


582  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

And  yet  I  am  content,"  she  added,  "with  whatever 
the  Lord  gives  me.  I  know  it  is  good." 

Lady  Brierley  saw  tears  in  the  eyes,  which  were 
so  singularly  wise  and  innocent  at  once.  She  was 
more  and  more  interested,  but  would  not  follow 
Dolly's  last  lead.  "  What  do  you  draw  ? "  she 
asked,  again  turning  her  head  towards  the  draw- 
ing materials. 

"Whatever  comes  in  my  way,"  said  Dolly. 
"Likenesses,  sometimes;  little  bits  of  anything  I 
like." 

Lady  Brierley  begged  to  be  shewn  a  specimen  of 
the  likenesses;  and  forthwith  persuaded  Dolly  to 
come  and  make  a  picture  of  herseW'.  With  which 
agreement  the  visit  ended. 

If  she  had  come  some  months  ago,  thought  Dol- 
ly as  she  looked  after  the  retreating  figure  of  her 
visiter,  I  should  have  liked  it.  She  might  have 
been  a  friend,  and  a  great  help.  Now  I  don't 
think  you  can,  my  lady ! 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

HANDS  FULL. 

DOLLY  was  however  partly  mistaken.  Lady 
Brierley  was  a  help.  First,  for  the  likenesses. 
Dolly  painted  so  charming  a  little  picture  of  her 
ladyship  that  it  was  a  perpetual  letter  of  recom- 
mendation ;  Lady  Brierley's  friends  desired  to  have 
Dolly's  pencil  do  the  same  service  for  them;  neigh- 
bouring families  saw  and  admired  her  work  and 
came  to  beg  to  have  her  skill  exerted  on  their  be- 
half; and  in  short  orders  flowed  in  upon  Dolly  to 
the  full  occupation  of  all  the  time  she  had  to  give 
to  them.  They  paid  well,  too.  For  that,  Dolly 
had  referred  to  Lady  Brierley  to  say  what  the  price 
ought  to  be;  and  Lady  Brierley,  guessing  need  on 
the  one  hand  and  knowing  abundance  on  the  other, 
had  set  the  price  at  a  very  pretty  figure;  and  money 
quite  piled  itself  up  in  Dolly's  secret  hoard.  She 
was  very  glad  of  it ;  for  her  supplies  from  her  father 
became  more  and  more  precarious.  He  seemed  to 
shut  his  eyes  when  he  came  to  Brierley,  and  not 
recognize  the  fact  that  anything  was  wanting  or 
missing.  And  well  Dolly  knew  that  such  wilful 
oversight  could  never  happen  if  Mr.  Copley  were 


584  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

himself  doing  true  and  faithful  work ;  she  knew  he 
was  going  in  false  and  dangerous  ways,  without 
being  able  to  follow  him  and  see  just  what  they 
were.  Her  one  comfort  was,  that  her  mother  did 
not  seem  to  read  the  signs  that  were  so  terribly 
legible  to  herself. 

And  here  too  Lady  Brierley's  new-found  friend- 
ship was  of  use.  She  wrought  a  diversion  for  the 
girl's  troubled  spirits.  She  was  constantly  having 
Dolly  at  the  House.  Dolly  objected  to  leaving  her 
mother;  at  the  same  time  Mrs.  Copley  very  much 
objected  to  have  Dolly  stay  at  home  when  such 
chances  offered;  so,  at  first  to  paint,  and  then  to 
give  her  sweet  company,  Dolly  went  often,  and 
spent  hours  at  a  time  with  Lady  Brierley,  who  on 
her  part  grew  more  and  more  fond  of  having  the 
little  American  girl  in  her  society.  Dolly  was  a 
novelty,  and  a  mystery,  and  a  beauty.  Lady  Brier- 
ley's  son  was  in  Russia;  so  there  was  no  harm  in 
her  being  a  beauty,  but  the  contrary ;  it  was  pleas- 
ant to  the  eyes.  And  Dolly  was  naive,  and  fresh, 
and  independent  too,  with  a  manner  as  fearless  and 
much  more  frank  than  Lady  Brierley's  own,  and 
yet  with  as  simple  a  reserve  of  womanly  dignity  as 
any  lady  could  have;  and  how  a  girl  that  painted 
likenesses  for  money,  and  made  her  own  bread,  and 
learned  cookery  of  Mrs.  Jersey,  could  talk  to  Lord 
Brierley  with  such  sweet  quiet  freedom,  was  a  puz- 
zle most  puzzling  to  the  great  lady.  So  it  was  to 
others,  for  at  Brierley  House  Dolly  often  saw  a  great 
deal  of  company.  It  did  her  good ;  it  refreshed  her; 


HANDS  FULL.  585 

it  gave  her  a  world  of  things  to  tell  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  her  mother;  and  besides  all  that,  she  felt 
that  Lady  Brierley  was  really  a  friend,  and  would 
be  kind  if  occasion  were;  indeed  she  was  kind  now. 

Dolly  needed  it  all,  for  darker  days  were  coming, 
and  the  shadow  of  them  was  "  cast  before,"  as  the 
manner  is.  With  every  visit  of  Mr.  Copley  to  the 
cottage,  Dolly  grew  more  uneasy.  He  was  not 
looking  well,  nor  happy,  nor  easy ;  his  manner  was 
constrained,  his  spirits  were  forced;  and  for  all 
that  appeared,  he  might  suppose  that  Dolly  and 
her  mother  could  live  on  air.  He  gave  them  noth- 
ing else  to  live  on.  What  did  he  live  on  himself, 
Dolly  queried,  besides  wine?  and  she  made  up  her 
mind  that  hard  as  it  was,  and  doubtful  as  the  effect, 
she  must  have  a  talk  with  him  the  next  time  he 
came  down.  "0  father,  father!"  she  cried  to  her- 
self in  the  bitterness  of  her  heart — "how  can  you! 
how  can  you!  how  can  you! —  It  never,  never 
ought  to  be,  that  a  child  is  ashamed  for  her  fa- 
ther!—  The  world  is  turned  upside  down." 

HOAV  intensely  bitter  it  was,  the  children  who 
have  always  been  proud  of  their  parents  can  never 
know.  Dolly  wrung  her  hands  sometimes,  in  a 
distress  that  was  beyond  tears;  and  then  deroted 
herself  with  redoubled  ardour  to  her  mother,  to 
prevent  her  from  finding  out  how  things  were  go- 
ing. She  would  have  a  plain  talk  with  her  father 
the  next  time  he  came,  very  difficult  as  she  felt  it 
would  be ;  things  could  not  go  on  as  they  were ;  or 
at  least,  not  without  ending  in  a  thorough  break- 


586  THE   END  OF  A  COIL. 

down.  But  what  we  purpose  is  one  thing;  what 
we  are  able  -to  execute  is  often  quite  another  thing. 

It  was  a  week  or  two  before  Mr.  Copley  made 
his  appearance.  Dolly  was  looking  from  the  win- 
dow, and  saw  the  village  fly  drive  up  and  her  fa- 
ther get  out  of  it.  She  announced  the  fact  to  her 
mother,  and  then  ran  down  to  the  garden  gate  to 
meet  him.  As  their  hands  encountered  at  the  gate, 
Dolly  almost  fell  back;  took  her  hand  from  the 
latch,  and  only  put  it  forth  again  when  she  saw 
that  her  father  could  not  readily  get  the  gate 
open.  He  was  looking  ill;  his  gait  was  totter- 
ing, his  eye  wavering,  and  when  he  spoke  his  ut- 
terance was  confused.  Dolly  felt  as  if  a  lump  of 
ice  had  suddenly  come  where  her  heart  used  to  be. 

"  You  are  not  well,  father  ? "  she  said  as  they 
went  up  the  walk  together. 

"Well  enough — "  returned  Mr.  Copley;  "all 
right  directly.  Cursed  wet  weather — got  soaked 
to  the  bone — haven't  got  warm  yet." 

"Wet  weather!"  said  Dolly;  "why  it  is  very- 
sunny  and  warm.  What  are  you  thinking  of, 
father?" 

"  Sun  don't  always  shine  in  England,"  said  Mr. 
Copley.  "  Let  me  get  in  and  have  a  cup  of  tea  or 
coffee.  You  don't  keep  such  a  thing  as  brandy  in 
the  house,  do  you  ?  " 

"You  have  had  brandy  enough  already,"  said 
Dolly  in  a  low,  grave  voice.  "  I  will  make  somft 
coffee.  Come  in — why  you  are  trembling,  father ! 
Are  you  cold  ?  " 


HANDS  FULL.  587 

"  Haven't  been  warm  for  three  days.  Cold  ?  yes. 
Coffee,  Dolly — let  me  have  some  coffee.  It's  the 
vilest  climate  a  man  ever  lived  in." 

"  Why  father,"  said  Dolly,  laying  her  hand  on 
his  sleeve,  "  your  coat  is  wet !  What  have  you  done 
to  yourself?  " 

"  Wet  ?  no  it  isn't.  I  put  on  a  dry  coat  to  come 
down — wouldn't  be  such  a  fool  as  to  put  on  a  wet 
one.  Coffee,  Dolly !  It's  cold  enough  for  a  fire." 

" But  how  did  your  coat  get  wet,  father? " 

"  Tisn't  wet.  I  left  a  wet  coat  in  London — had 
enough  of  it.  If  you  go  out  in  England  you  must 
get  wet.  Give  me  some  coffee,  if  you  haven't  got 
any  brandy.  I  tell  you,  I've  never  been  warm 
since." 

Dolly  ran  up  stairs,  where  Mrs.  Copley  was  mak- 
ing a  little  alteration  in  her  dress. 

"Mother,"  she  cried,  "will  you  go  down  and 
take  care  of  father?  He  is  not  well;  I  am  afraid 
he  has  taken  cold;  I  am  going  to  make  him  some 
coffee  as  fast  as  I  can.  Get  him  to  change  his  coat; 
— it  is  wet." 

Then  Dolly  ran  down  again,  every  nerve  in  her 
trembling,  but  forcing  herself  to  go  steadily  and 
methodically  to  work.  She  made  a  cup  of  strong 
coffee,  cooked  a  nice  bit  of  beefsteak  she  had  in 
the  house,  rejoicing  that  she  had  it;  and  while  the 
steak  was  doing' she  made  a  plate  of  toast,  such  as 
she  knew  both  father  and  mother  were  fond  of. 
In  half  an  hour  she  had  it  all  ready  and  carried  it 
up  on  a  tray.  Mrs.  Copley  was  sitting  with  an 


588  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

anxious  and  perplexed  face  watching  her  husband; 
he  had  crept  to  the  empty  fireplace  and  was  lean- 
ing towards  it  as  towards  a  place  whence  comfort 
ought  to  be  looked  for.  His  wife  had  persuaded 
him  to  exchange  the  wet  coat  for  an  old  dressing 
gown,  which  change  however  seemed  to  have 
wrought  no  bettering  of  affairs. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ? "  said  poor  Mrs.  Copley 
with  a  scared  face.  "  I  can't  make  out  anything 
from  what  he  says." 

"  He  has  caught  cold,  I  think,"  said  Dolly  very 
quietly;  though  her  face  was  white,  and  all  the 
time  of  her  ministrations  in  the  kitchen  she  had 
worked  with  that  feeling  of  ice  at  her  heart.  "  Fa- 
ther, here  is  your  coffee,  and  it  is  good;  maybe 
this  will  make  you  feel  better." 

She  had  set  her  dishes  nicely  on  the  table;  she 
had  poured  out  the  coffee  and  cut  a  piece  of  the 
steak;  but  Mr.  Copley  would  look  at  no  food.  He 
drank  a  little  coffee,  and  set  the  cup  down. 

"Sloppy  stuff!     Haven't  you  got  any  brandy?" 

"You  have  had  brandy  already  this  afternoon, 
father.  Take  the  coffee  now." 

"  Brandy  ?  my  teeth  were  chattering,  and  I  took 
a  wretched  glass  somewhere.  Do  give  me  some 
more,  Dolly !  and  stop  this  shaking." 

".Where  did  you  get  cold,  Mr.  Copley?"  asked 
his  wife.  "You  have  caught  a  terrible  cold." 

"Nothing  of  the  kind.  I  am  all  right.  Just 
been  in  the  rain;  rain'll  wet  any  man;  my  coat's 
got  it." 


HANDS  FULL.  589 

"But  when,  Frank?"  urged  his  wife.  "There 
has  been  no  rain  to-day;  it  is  clear,  hot  summer 
weather.  When  were  you  in  the  rain  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  Rain's  rain.  It  don't  signify 
when.  Have  you  got  nothing  better  than  this? 
I  shall  not  stop  shaking  till  morning." 

And  he  did  not.  They  got  him  to  bed,  and  sat 
and  watched  by  him,  the  mother  and  daughter; 
watching  the  feverish  trembling,  and  the  feverish 
flush  that  gradually  rose  in  his  cheeks.  They  could 
get  no  more  information  as  to  the  cause  of  the  mis- 
chief. The  truth  was,  that  two  or  three  nights  pre- 
vious, Mr.  Copley  had  sat  long  at  play  and  drunk 
freely ;  lost  freely  too ;  so  that  when  at  last  he  went 
home  his  condition  of  mind  and  body  was  so,en- 
cumbered  and  confused  that  he  took  no  account 
of  the  fact  that  it  was  raining  heavily.  He  was 
heated,  and  the  outer  air  was  refreshing;  Mr.  Cop- 
ley walked  home  to  his  lodgings;  was  of  course 
drenched  through;  and  on  getting  home  had  no 
longer  clearness  of  perception  enough  in  exercise 
to  know  that  he  must  take  off  his  wet  clothes. 
How  he  passed  the  night  he  never  knew;  but  the 
morning  found  him  very  miserable,  and  he  had 
been  miserable  ever  since.  Pains  and  aches,  flushes 
of  heat,  creepings  of  inexplicable  cold,  would  not 
be  chased  away  by  any  potations  his  landlady  rec- 
ommended or  by  the  stronger  draughts  to  which 
Mr.  Copley's  habits  bade  him  recur;  and  the  third 
day,  with  something  of  the  same  sort  of  dumb  in- 
stinct which  makes  a  wounded  or  sick  animal  draw 


590  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

back  to  cover,  he  threw  himself  into  the  post  coach 
and  went  down  to  Brierley.  Naturally,  he  took  ad- 
vantage of  stopping  places  by  the  way  to  get 
something  to  warm  him ;  and  so  reached  home  at 
last  in  an  altogether  muddled  and  disordered  state 
of  mind  and  body. 

Neither  Mrs.  Copley  nor  Dolly  would  go  to  bed 
that  night.  Not  that  there  was  much  to  do,  but 
there  was  much  to  fear;  and  they  clung  in  their  fear 
to  each  other's  company.  Mrs.  Copley  dozed  in  an 
easy  chair  part  of  the  time;  and  Dolly  sat  at  the 
open  window  with  her  head  on  the  sill,  and  lost 
herself  there  in  slumber  that  was  hardly  refresh- 
ing. The  night  saw  no  change;  and  the  morning 
was  welcome,  as  the  morning  is  in  times  of  sick- 
ness, because  it  brought  stir  and  the  necessity  of 
work  to  be  done. 

It  was  still  early  when  Dolly,  after  refreshing 
herself  with  water  and  changing  her  dress,  went 
down  stairs.  She  opened  the  hall  door,  and  stood 
still  a  moment.  The  summer  morning  met  her 
outside,  fresh  with  dew,  heavy  with  the  scent  of 
roses,  musical  with  the  song  of  birds;  dim,  sweet, 
full  of  life,  breathing  loveliness,  folding  its  loveli- 
ness in  mystery.  As  yet,  things  could  be  seen  but 
confusedly;  the  dark  bank  of  Brierley  Park  with 
its  giant  trees  rose  up  against  the  sky,  there  was 
no  gleam  on  the  little  river,  the  outlines  of  nearer 
trees  and  bushes  were  merged  and  indistinct;  but 
what  a  hum  and  stir  and  warble  and  chitter  of 
happy  creatures!  how  many  creatures  to  be  happy! 


HANDS  FULL.  591 

and  what  a  warm  breath  of  incense  told  of  the 
blessings  of  the  summer  day  in  store  for  them  ! 
For  them,  and  not  for  Dolly  ?  It  smote  her  hard, 
the  question  and  the  answer.  It  was  for  her  too; 
it  ought  to  be  for  her;  the  Lord's  will  was  that  all 
his  creatures  should  be  happy;  and  some  of  his 
creatures  would  not !  Some  refused  the  rich  invi- 
tation, and  would  neither  take  themselves  nor  let 
others  take  the  bountiful,  tender,  blessed  gifts  of 
God.  It  came  to  Dolly  with  an  unspeakable  sore 
pain.  Yes,  the  Lord's  will  was  peace  and  joy  and 
plenty  for  them  all ;  fulness  of  gracious  supply ;  the 
singing  of  delighted  hearts,  loving  and  praising 
him.  And  men  made  their  own  choice  to  have 
something  else,  and  brought  bitterness  into  what 
was  meant  to  be  only  sweet.  Tears  came  slowly 
into  her  eyes,  mournful  tears,  and  rolled  down  her 
cheeks  hopelessly.  What  ever  was  to  become  now 
of  her  little  family  ?  Her  father,  she  feared,  was 
entering  upon  a  serious  illness,  which  might  last  no 
one  knew  how  long.  Who  would  nurse  him  ?  and 
if  Dolly  did,  who  would  do  the  work  of  the  house- 
hold ?  and  if  her  father  was  laid  by  for  any  con- 
siderable time,  whence  were  needful  supplies  to 
come  from?  Dolly's  little  stock  would  not  last 
forever.  And  how  would  her  mother  stand  the 
strain  and  the  care  and  the  fatigue  ?  It  seemed  to 
Dolly  as  she  stood  there  at  the  door,  that  her  sky 
was  closing  in  and  the  ground  giving  way  beneath 
her  feet.  Usually  she  kept  up  her  courage  bravely ; 
just  now  it  failed. 


502  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"Dolly — "  her  mother's  voice  came  smothered 
from  over  the  balusters  of  the  upper  hall. 
"  Yes,  mother — 

"  Send  Nelly  for  the  doctor  as  soon  as  you  can." 
"  Yes,  mother.  As  soon  as  it  is  light  enough." 
The  doctor!  that  was  another  thought.  Then 
there  would  be  the  doctor's  bill.  But  at  this  point 
Dolly  caught  herself  up.  "  Take  no  thought  for  the 
morrow  " — what  did  that  mean  ?  "  Be  careful  for 
nothing;  but  in  everything  by  prayer  and  supplica- 
tion, with  thanksgiving,  let  your  requests  be  made 
known  unto  God."  And,  "  Who  shall  separate  us 
from  the  love  of  Christ?"  The  words  loosed  the 
bands  which  seemed  to  have  bound  Dolly's  heart 
in  iron ;  she  broke  down,  fell  down  on  her  knees  in 
the  porch,  resting  her  head  on  the  seat,  and  burst 
into  a  thundershower  of  weeping,  which  greatly 
cleared  the  air  and  relieved  the  oppression  under 
which  she  had  been  labouring.  This  was  nearly 
as  uncommon  a  thing  for  Dolly  as  her  former  hope- 
less mood;  she  rose  up  feeling  shaken,  and  yet 
strengthened.  Ready  for  duty. 

She  went  into  the  little  sitting  room,  set  open  the 
casement,  and  put  the  furniture  in  order,  dusting 
and  arranging.  Leaving  that  all  right,  Dolly  went 
down  to  the  kitchen  and  made  the  fire.  She  was 
thinking  what  she  should  do  for  breakfast,  when 
her  little  handmaid  made  her  appearance.  Dolly 
gave  her  some  bread  and  butter  and  cold  coffee  and 
sent  her  off  to  the  village  with  a  note  to  the  doc- 
tor which  she  had  meanwhile  prepared.  Left  to 


HANDS  .  FULL.  593 

herself  then,  she  put  on  her  kettle,  and  looked  at 
the  untouched  pieces  of  beefsteak  she  had  cooked 
last  night.  She  knew  what  to  do  with  them, 
thanks  to  Mrs.  Jersey.  The  next  thing  was  to  go 
out  into  the  dewy  garden  and  get  a  handful  of  dif- 
ferent herbs  and  vegetables  growing  there;  and 
what  she  did  with  them  I  will  not  say;  but  in  a  lit- 
tle while  Dolly  had  a  most  savoury  mess  prepared. 
Then  she  crept  up  stairs  to  her  mother.  Here  every- 
thing was  just  as  it  had  been  all  night.  Dolly  whis- 
pered to  her  mother  to  come  down  and  have  some 
breakfast.  Mrs.  Copley  shook  her  head. 

"You  must,  mother  dear.  I  have  got  something 
nice — and  father  is  sleeping;  he  don't  want  you. 
Come !  I  have  got  it  in  the  kitchen,  for  Nelly  is 
away,  and  it's  less  trouble,  and  keeps  the  coffee  hot. 
Come !  father  won't  want  anything  for  a  little  while, 
and  you  arid  I  do,  and  must  have  it,  or  we  cannot 
stand  what  is  on  our  hands.  Come,  mother.  Wash 
your  face,  and  it  will  refresh  you,  and  come  right 
down." 

The  little  kitchen  was  very  neat;  the  window 
was  open  and  the  summer  morning  looking  in;  no- 
body was  there  but  themselves ;  and  so  there  might 
be  many  a  worse  place  to  take  breakfast  in.  And 
the  meal  prepared  was  dainty,  though  simple.  Mrs. 
Copley  could  not  eat  much,  nor  Dolly;  and  yet  the 
form  of  coming  to  breakfast  and  the  nicety  of  the 
preparation  were  a  comfort;  they  always  are;  they 
seem  to  say  that  all  things  are  not  confusion,  and 
give  a  kind  of  guaranty  for  the  continuance  of  old 


594  THE  EXD  OF  A  COIL. 

ways.  Still,  Mrs.  Copley  did  not  eat  much,  and 
soon  went  back  to  her  watch;  and  Dolly  cleared 
the  table  and  considered  what  she  could  have  for 
dinner.  For  dinner  must  be  as  usual;  on  that  she 
was  determined.  But  the  doctor's  coming  was  the 
next  thing  on  the  programme. 

The  doctor  came  and  made  his  visit,  and  Dolly 
met  him  in  the  hall  as  he  was  going  away.  He 
was  a  comfortable  looking  man,  with  the  long 
English  whiskers;  ruddy  and  fleshy;  one  who, 
Dolly  was  sure,  had  no  objection  for  his  own  part 
to  a  good  glass  of  wine,  or  even  a  good  measure 
of  beer,  if  the  wine  were  not  forthcoming. 

"  Your  father,  is  it  ?  "  said  the  doctor.  "  Well, 
take  care  of  him — take  care  of  him." 

"  How  shall  we  take  care  of  him,  sir  ?  " 

"Well,  I've  left  medicines  up  stairs.  He  won't 
want  much  to  eat;  nor  much  of  anything,  for  a  day 
or  two." 

"What  is  it?     Cold?" 

"No,  my  young  lady.     Fever." 

"  He  got  himself  wet  in  the  rain,  a  few  days  ago. 
He  was  shivering  last  night." 

"Very  likely.  That's  fever.  Must  take  its  course. 
He's  not  shivering  now." 

"  Will  he  be  long  ill,  sir,  probably  ?  " 

"  Impossible  to  say.  These  things  are  not  to  be 
counted  upon.  May  get  up  in  a  day  or  two,  but  far 
more  likely  not  in  a  week  or  two.  Good  morning ! " 

A  week  or  two!  Dolly  stood  and  looked  after 
the  departing  chaise  which  carried  the  functionary 


HANDS  FULL.  595 

% 

who  gave  judgment  so  easily  on  matters  of  life  and 
death.  The  question  came  back.  What  would  be- 
come of  her  mother  and  her,  if  watching  and  nurs- 
ing had  to  be  kept  up  for  weeks  ? — with  all  the  rest 
there  was  to  do.  Dolly  felt  very  blue  for  a  little 
while;  then  she  shook  it  off  again  and  took  hold 
of  her  work.  Nelly  had  returned  by  this  time, 
with  a  knuckle  of  veal  from  the  butcher's.  Dolly 
put  it  on,  to  make  the  nicest  possible  delicate  stew 
for  her  mother ;  and  even  for  her  father  she  thought 
the  broth  might,  do.  She  gathered  herbs  and  vege- 
tables in  the  garden  again,  and  a  messenger  came 
from  Mrs.  Jersey  with  a  basket  of  strawberries; 
Dolly  wrote  a  note  to  go  back  with  the  basket ;  and 
altogether  had  a  busy  morning  of  it.  For  bread 
had  also  to  be  made;  and  her  small  helpmate  was 
good  for  only  the  simplest  details  of  scrubbing  and 
sweeping  and  washing  dishes.  It  was  with  the 
greatest  difficulty  after  all  that  Dolly  coaxed  her 
mother  to  come  down  to  dinner;  Nelly  being  left 
to  keep  watch  the  while  and  call  them  'if  anything 
was  wanted. 

"  I  can't  eat,  Dolly ! "  Mrs.  Copley  said,  when  she 
was  seated  at  Dolly's  board. 

"  Mother,  it  is  necessary.  See — this  is  what  you 
like,  and  it  is  very  good,  I  know.  And  these  pota- 
toes are  excellent." 

"  But  Dolly,  he  may  be  sick  for  weeks,  for  ought 
we  can  tell;  it  is  a  low  fever.  0  this  is  the  worst 
of  all  we  have  had  yet !  "  cried  Mrs.  Copley,  wring- 
ing her  hands. 


596  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

* 
It  did  look  so,  and  for  a  moment  Dolly  could  not 

speak.     Her  heart  seemed  to  stand  still. 

"  Mother,  we  don't  know,"  she  said.  "  We  do 
not  know  anything.  It  may  be  no  such  matter; 
it  may  not  last  so;  the  doctor  cannot  tell;  and  any- 
how, mother,  God  does  know  and  he  will  take 
care.  We  can  trust  him,  can't  we  ?  and  mean- 
while what  you  and  I  have  to  do  is  to  keep  up 
our  strength  and  our  faith  and  our  spirits.  Eat 
your  dinner,  like  a  good  woman.  I  am  going 
to  make  a  cup  of  tea  for  you.  Perhaps  father 
would  take  some." 

"Arid  you — "  said  Mrs.  Copley  eyeing  her.  Dol- 
ly had  a  white  kitchen  apron  on,  it  is  true,  but  she 
was  otherwise  in  perfect  order  and  looked  very 
lovely.  "  What  about  me  ?  "  she  said. 

"  Doing  kitchen  work !  You,  who  are  fit  for — 
something  so  different ! — "  Mrs.  Copley  had  to  get 
rid  of  some  tears  here. 

"Doing  kitchen  work?  Yes,  certainly,  if  that 
is  the  thing  given  me  to  do.  Why  not?  Isn't  my 
veal  good?  I'll  do  anything,  mother,  that  comes 
to  hand,  provided  I  can  do  it.  Mother,  we  don't 
trust  half  enough.  Eemember  who  it  is  gives  me 
the  cooking  to  do.  Shall  I  not  do  what  he  gives 
me?  And  I  can  tell  you  one  little  secret — I  like 
to  do  cooking.  Isn't  it  good  ?  " 

Mrs.  Copley  made  a  very  respectable  dinner  af- 
ter all. 

This  was  the  manner  of  the  beginning  of  Mr. 
Copley's  illness.  Faith  and  courage  were  well  tried 


HANDS  FULL.  597 

as  the  days  went  on;  for  though  never  violently 
ill,  he  never  mended.  Day  and  night  the  same 
tedious  low  fever  held  him,  wearing  down  not  his 
strength  only  but  that  of  the  two  whose  unaided 
hands  had  to  manage  all  that  was  done.  Dolly  did 
not  know  where  to  look  for  a  nurse,  and  Mrs.  Cop- 
ley was  utterly  unwilling  to  have  one  called  in. 
She  herself  roused  to  the  emergency  and  ceased  to 
complain  about  her  own  troubles;  she  sat  up  night 
after  night,  with  only  partial  help  from  Dolly,  who 
had  her  hands  full  with  the  care  of  the  house  and 
the  day  duty  and  the  sick  cookery.  And  as  day 
after  day  went  by,  and  night  after  night  was 
watched  through,  and  days  and  nights  began  to 
run  into  weeks,  the  strength  and  nervous  energy 
of  them  both  began  at  times  to  fail.  Neither  shewed 
it  to  the  other,  except  as  pale  faces  and  weary  eyes 
told  their  story.  Mrs.  Copley  cried  in  secret,  at 
night,  with  her  head  on  the  window-sill;  and  Dol- 
ly went  with  slow  foot  to  gather  her  herbs  and 
vegetables,  and  sat  down  sometimes  in  the  porch, 
in  the  early  dawn  or  the  evening  gloom,  and  al- 
lowed herself  to  own  that  things  were  looking  very 
dark  indeed.  The  question  was,  how  long  would 
it  be  possible  to  go  on  as  they  were  doing  ?  how 
long  would  strength  hold  out? — and  money?  The 
doctor's  fees  took  great  pinches  out  of  Dolly's  fund ; 
a^nd  for  the  present  there  was  no  adding  to  it.  Lady 
Brierley  was  away;  she  had  gone  to  the  seaside. 
Mrs.  Jersey  was  very  kind;  fruit  and  eggs  and 
vegetables  came  almost  daily  from  the  House  to 


598  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

Dolly's  help,  and  the  kind  housekeeper  herself  had 
offered  to  sit  up  with  the  sick  man ;  but  this  offer 
was  refused.  Mr.  Copley  did  not  like  to  see  any 
stranger  about  him.  And  Dolly  and  her  mother 
were  becoming  now  very  tired.  As  the  weeks  went 
on,  they  ceased  to  look  in  each  other's  faces  any 
more  with  questioning  eyes ;  they  knew  too  well  how 
anxiety  and  effort  had  told  upon  both  of  them,  and 
each  was  too  conscious  of  what  the  other  was  think- 
ing and  fearing.  They  did  not  meet  each  other's 
eyes  with  those  mute  demands  in  them  any  more; 
but  they  stole  stealthy  glances  sometimes  each  to 
see  how  the  other  face  looked;  what  tokens  of  wear 
and  tear  it  was  shewing;  taking  in  at  a  rapid  view 
the  lines  of  weariness,  the  marks  of  anxiety,  the 
faded  colour,  the  languor  of  spirit  which  had  grad- 
ually taken  the  place  of  the  earlier  energy.  In 
word  and  action  they  shewed  none  of  all  this.  All 
the  more,  no  doubt,  when  each  was  alone  and  the 
guard  might  be  relaxed,  a  very  grave  and  sorrow- 
ful expression  took  possession  of  their  faces.  Noth- 
ing else  might  be  relaxed.  Day  and  night  the  la- 
bour and  the  watch  were  unintermitting. 

And  so  the  summer  wore  on  to  an  end.  Dolly 
was  patient,  but  growing  very  sad;  perhaps  taking 
a  wider  view  of  things  than  her  mother,  who  for 
the  present  was  swallowed  up  in  the  one  care  about 
her  husband's  condition.  Dolly,  managing  the  fi- 
nances and  managing  the  household,  had  both  par- 
ents to  think  of;  and  was  sometimes  almost  in 
despair. 


HANDS  FULL.  599 

She  was  sitting  so  one  afternoon  in  the  kitchen, 
in  a  little  lull  of  work  before  it  was  time  to  get 
supper,  looking  out  into  the  summer  glow.  It  was 
warm  in  the  small  kitchen,  but  Dolly  had  not  en- 
ergy to  go  somewhere  else  for  coolness.  She  sat 
gazing  out,  and  almost  querying  whether  all  things 
were  coming  to  an  end  at  once ;  life  and  the  means 
to  live  together,  and  the  strength  to  get  means. 
And  yet  she  remembered  that  it  is  written — "Trust 
in  the  Lord,  and  do  good;  so  shalt  thou  dwell  in 
the  land,  and  verily  thou  shalt  be  fed"  But  then, — it 
came  cold  into  her  heart, — it  could  not  be  said  that 
her  father  and  mother  had  ever  fulfilled  those  con- 
ditions; could  the  promise  be  good  for  her  faith 
alone?  And  truly,  where  was  Dolly's  faith  just 
now  ?  Withal,  as  she  sat  gazing  out  of  the  win- 
dow, she  saw  that  full  wealth  of  summer,  which 
was  a  pledge  and  proof  of  the  riches  of  the  hand 
from  which  it  came. 

"  There's  a  gentleman,  mum," — Dolly's  little  help- 
mate announced  in  her  ear.  Dolly  started. 

"A  gentleman?  what  gentleman?  It  isn't  the 
doctor  ?  He  has  been  here." 

"It's  no  him.  I  knows  Dr.  Hopley.  It's  no 
him." 

"  I  cannot  see  company.    Is  it  company,  Nelly?" 

"The  gentleman  didn't  say,  mum." 

"  Where  is  he  ?  " 

"  He's  a  standin'  there  at  the  door." 

Dolly  slowly  rose  up  and  doubtfully  took  off  her 
great  kitchen  apron;  doubtfully  went  up  stairs. 


600  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

Perhaps  she  had  better  see  who  it  was.  Mrs. 
Jersey  might  have  sent  a  messenger, — or  Lady 
Brierley !  She  went  on  to  the  hall  door,  which 
was  open,  and  where  indeed  she  saw  a  tall  figure 
against  the  summer  glow  which  filled  all  out  of 
doors.  A  tall  figure,  a  tall  upright  figure ;  at  first 
Dolly  could  see  only  the  silhouette  of  him  against 
the  warm  outer  light.  She  came  doubtfully  close 
up  to  the  open  door.  Then  she  could  see  a  little 
more  besides  the  tallness;  a  peculiar  uprightness 
of  bearing,  a  manly,  frank  face,  a  head  of  close 
curling  dark  hair,  and  an  expression  of  pleasant 
expectation;  there  was  a  half  smile  on  the  face, 
and  a  deferential  look  of  waiting.  He  stood  bare- 
headed before  her,  and  had  not  the  air  of  a  stran- 
ger; but  Dolly  was  quite  bewildered.  Somebody 
altogether  strange,  and  yet  somehow  familiar.  She 
said  nothing;  her  eyes  questioned  why,  being  a 
stranger,  he  should  stand  there  with  such  a  look 
upon  his  face. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  am  not  remembered,"  said  the 
gentleman,  with  the  smile  coming  out  a  little 
more.  His  look  too  was  steady  and  straight  for- 
ward and  observant, — where  had  Dolly  seen  that 
mixture  of  quietness  and  resoluteness  ?  Her  eyes 
fell  to  the  little  cap  in  his  hand,  an  officer's  cap, 
and  then  light  came  into  them. 

«  Oh !— "  she  cried,—"  Mr.  Shubrick !  " 
"  It  is  a  long  time  since  that  Christmas  day  at 
Home,"   he  said;  a  more  wistful  gravity  coming 
into  his  face  as  he  better  scanned  the  face  opposite 


HANDS  FULL.  601 

to  him,  which  the  evening  light  revealed  very 
fully. 

"01  know  now,"  said  Dolly.  "  I  do  not  need 
to  be  reminded;  but  I  could  not  expect  to  see  you 
here.  I  thought  you  were  in  the  Mediterranean. 
Will  you  come  in,  Mr.  Shubrick  ?  I  am  very  glad 
to  see  you;  but  my  thoughts  were  so  far  away — " 

"  You  thought  I  was  in  the  Mediterranean  ?  "  he 
said  as  he  followed  Dolly  in.  "  May  I  ask,  why  ?  " 

"  Your  ship  was  there." 

"  Was  there;  but  ships  are  not  stationary  things." 

"No,  of  course  not,"  said  Dolly,  throwing  open 
the  blinds  and  letting  the  summer  light  and  fra- 
grance stream  in.  "Then,  when  did  you  see 
Christina  ?  " 

"  Not  for  months.  The  Red  Chief  has  been  or- 
dered to  the  Baltic  and  is  there  now;  and  I  got  a 
furlough  to  come  to  England.  But — how  do  you 
do,  Miss  Copley  ?  " 

"  I  am  well,  thank  you." 

"  Forgive  me  for  asking,  if  that  information  can 
be  depended  on  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed  I  am  well.  I  suppose  I  look  tired. 
We  have  had  sickness  here  for  a  good  while — 
my  father.  Mother  and  I  are  tired,  no  doubt." 

"  You  look  very  tired.  I  am  afraid  I  ought  not 
to  be  here.  Can  you  make  me  of  use  ?  What  is 
the  matter  ?  Please  remember  that  I  am  not  a 
stranger." 

"I  am  very  glad  to  remember  it,"  said  Dolly. 
"  No,  I  do  not  feel  as  if  you  were  a  stranger,  Mr. 


602  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

Shubrick,  after  that  day  we  spent  together.  You 
asked  what  was  the  matter — 0  I  don't  know!  a 
sort  of  slow  nervous  fever,  not  infectious  at  all,  nor 
very  alarming;  ojily  it  must  be  watched,  and  he 
alwayr  wants  some  one  with  him,  and  of  course 
after  a  while  one  gets  tired.  That  cannot  be 
helped.  We  have  managed  very  well." 

"  Not  Mrs.  Copley  and  you  alone  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  How  long  ?  " 

"  It  is  five  weeks  now." 

"  And  no  improvement  yet  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know.  Mother  thinks,  a  little,"  said 
Dolly  faltering.  This  speaking  to  eyes  and  ears  of 
sympathy,  after  so  long  an  interval,  rather  upset 
her;  her  lips  trembled,  tears  came,  she  was  upon 
the  point  of  breaking  down ;  she  struggled  for  self- 
command,  but  her  lips  trembled  more  and  more. 

"  I  have  come  in  good  time,"  said  her  visiter. 

"  It  is  pleasant  to  see  somebody — to  be  able  to 
speak  to  somebody,  that  is  so  good  as  to  care,"  said 
Dolly,  brushing  her  hand  over  her  eyes  swiftly. 

"  You  are  worn  out,"  said  the  other  gently.  "  I 
am  not  going  to  be  simply  somebody  to  speak  to. 
Miss  Copley,  I  am  a  countryman,  and  a  sort  of  a 
friend,  you  know.  You  will  let  me  take  the  watch 
to-night." 

"  You !  "  said  Dolly  starting.     "0  no !  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  You  ought  to  say,  '  0  yes.' 
I  have  had  experience.  I  think  you  may  trust 
me." 


HANDS  FULL.  603 

"01  cannot.  We  have  no  right  to  let  you 
do  so." 

"  You  have  a  right  to  make  any  use  of  me  you 
can;  for  I  place  myself  at  your  disposal." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  Mr.  Shubrick !  " 

"Don't  say  anything  more.  That  is  settled," 
said  he,  taking  up  his  cap,  as  if  in  preparation  for 
departure.  Dolly  was  a  little  bewildered  by  the 
quiet  decided  manner,  just  like  what  she  remem- 
bered of  Mr.  Shubrick;  unobtrusive  and  undemon- 
strative, but  if  he  moved,  moving  straight  to  his 
goal.  She  rose  as  he  rose. 

"But,"  she  stammered,  "I  don't  think  you 
can.  Father  likes  nobody  but  mother  and  me 
about  him." 

"  He  will  like  me  to-morrow," — Mr.  Shubrick 
answered  with  a  smile.  "  Don't  fear,  I  will  manage 
that." 

"You  are  very  kind!"  said  Dolly.  "You  are 
very  kind !  "—  Already  her  heart  was  leaping  tow- 
ards this  offered  help,  and  Mr.  Shubrick  looked 
so  resolute  and  strong  and  ready ;  she  could  hardly 
oppose  him.  "But  you  are  too  kind!"  she  said 
suddenly. 

"No,"  said  he  gravely;  "  that  is  impossible.  Re- 
member, in  the  family  we  belong  to,  the  rule  is  one 
which  we  can  never  reach.  'That  ye  love  orie 
another,  even  as  I  have  loved  you.' " 

What  it  was,  I  do  not  know,  in  these  words 
which  overcame  Dolly.  In  the  words  and  the  man- 
ner together.  She  was  very  tired  and  overstrung, 


604  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

and  they  found  some  unguarded  spot  and  reached 
the  strained  nerves.  Dolly  put  both  hands  to  her 
face  and  burst  into  tears,  and  for  a  moment  was  ter- 
ribly afraid  that  she  was  going  to  be  hysterical. 
But  that  was  not  Dolly's  way  at  all,  and  she  made 
resolute  fight  against  her  nerves.  Meanwhile  she 
felt  herself  taken  hold  of  and  placed  in  a  chair  by 
the  window;  and  the  sense  that  somebody  was 
watching  her  and  waiting,  helped  the  return  of 
self-control.  With  a  sort  of  childish  sob,  Dolly 
presently  took  down  her  hands  and  looked  up 
through  the  glistening  tears  at  the  young  man 
standing  over  her. 

"  There ! "  she  said,  forcing  a  smile  on  the  lips 
that  quivered, — "  I  am  all  right  now.  I  do  not 
know  how  I  could  be  so  foolish." 

"/know,"  said  Mr.  Shubrick.  "Then  I  will 
just  return  to  the  village  for  half  and  hour,  and  be 
back  here  as  soon  as  possible." 

"But — "  said  Dolly  doubtfully.  "Why  don't 
you  send  for  what  you  want  ?  " 

"  Difficult,"  said  the  other.  "  I  am  going  to  get 
some  supper." 

"  0  ! — "  said  Dolly.  "  If  that  is  what  you  want 
— Sit  down,  Mr.  Shubrick.  Or  send  oif  your  fly 
first,  and  then  sit  down.  If  you  are  going  to  stay 
here  to-night,  I'll  give  you  your  supper.  Send 
away  the  fly,  Mr.  Shubrick,  please !  " 

"I  do  not  think  1  can.  And  you  cannot  pos- 
sibly do  such  a  thing  as  you  propose.  I  shall  be 
back  here  in  a  very  little  time." 


HANDS  FULL.  605 

Dolly  put  her  hand  upon  Mr.  Shubrick's  cap  and 
softly  took  it  from  him. 

"  No,"  she  said.  "  It's  a  bargain.  If  I  let  you 
do  one  thing,  you  must  let  me  do  the  other.  It 
would  trouble  me  to  have  you  go.  It  is  too  pleas- 
.ant  to  see  a  friend  here,  to  lose  sight  of  him  in 
this  fashion.  There  will  be  supper,  of  some  sort, 
•md  you  shall  have  the  best  you  can.  Will  you 
send  away  your  fly,  please,  and  sit  down  and  wait 
for  it  ?  " 

If  Dolly  could  not  withstand  him,  so  on  this 
point  there  was  no  resisting  her.  Mr.  Shubrick 
yielded  to  her  evident  urgent  wish ;  and  Dolly  went 
back  to  her  preparations.  The  question  suddenly 
struck  her,  ivhere  should  she  have  supper  ?  Down 
here  in  the  kitchen  ?  But  to  have  it  in  order,  up 
stairs,  would  involve  a  great  deal  more  outlay  of 
strength  and  trouble.  The  little  maid  could  not 
set  the  table  up  there,  and  Dolly  could  not,  with 
the  stranger  looking  on.  That  would  never  do. 
She  debated,  and  finally  decided  to  put  her  pride 
in  her  pocket  and  bring  her  visiter  down  to  the 
kitchen.  It  was  not  a  bad  place,  and  if  he  was 
going  to  be  a  third  nurse  in  the  house,  it  would 
be  out  of  keeping  to  make  any  ceremony  with  him. 
Dolly's  supper  itself  was  faultless.  She  had  some 
cold  game,  sent  by  Lady  Brierley  or  by  her  order; 
she  had  fresh  raspberries  sent  by  Mrs.  Jersey,  and 
a  salad  of  cresses.  But  Mrs.  Copley  would  not  be 
persuaded  to  make  her  appearance.  She  did  not 
want  to  see  strangers;  she  did  not  like  to  leave 


606  «  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

Mr.  Copley;  in  short  she  excused  herself  obsti- 
nately, to  Dolly's  distress.  However,  she  made  no 
objection  to  having  Mr.  Shubrick  take  her  place 
for  the  night;  and  she  promised  Dolly  that  if  she 
got  a  good  night's  sleep  and  was  rested,  she  would 
appear  at  breakfast. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

THE  NURSE. 

T"\OLLY  made  her  mother's  excuses,  which  seemed 
JLJ  to  her  visitor  perfectly  natural,  and  ushered 
him  down  to  the  supper  laid  in  the  little  kitchen ; 
Dolly  explaining  very  simply  that  her  mother  and 
she  had  lived  there  since  there  had  been  sickness 
in  the  house,  and  had  done  so  for  want  of  hands  to 
make  other  arrangements  possible.  And  Mr.  Shu- 
brick  seemed  also  to  find  it  the  most  natural  thing 
in  the  world  to  live  in  the  kitchen,  and  for  all  that 
appeared,  had  never  taken  his  meals  anywhere  else 
in  his  life.  He  did  justice  to  the  supper  too,  which 
was  a  great  gratification  to  Dolly;  and  lifted  the 
kettle  for  her  from  the  hob  when  she  wanted  it, 
and  took  his  place  generally  as  if  he  were  one  of 
the  family.  As  for  Dolly,  there  came  over  her  a 
most  exquisite  sense  of  relief;  a  glimpse  of  shelter 
and  protection,  the  like  of  which  she  had  not  known, 
since  she  could  hardly  remember  when.  True,  it 
was  transient;  it  could  not  abide;  Mr.  Shubrick 
was  sitting  there  opposite  her  like  some  one  that 
had  fallen  from  the  clouds,  and  whom  mist  and 
shadow  would  presently  swallow  up  again;  but 


608  %    THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

in  the  mean  while,  what  a  gleam  of  light  his 
presence  brought!  He  would  go  soon  again,  of 
course;  he  must;  but  to  have  him  there  in  the 
mean  time  was  a  momentary  comfort  unspeakable. 
More  than  momentary;  he  would  stay  all  night. 
And  her  mother  would  get  a  night's  sleep.  For 
her  own  part,  this  feeling  of  rest  was  already  as 
good  as  sleep.  Yes,  for  once,  for  a  little,  a  strong 
hand  had  come  between  her  and  her  burdens. 
Dolly  let  herself  rest  upon  it,  with  an  intense  ap- 
preciation of  its  strength  and  sufficiency. 

And  so  resting,  she  observed  her  new  helper  cu- 
riously. She  noticed  how  entirely  he  was  the  same 
man  she  had  seen  that  Christmas  day  in  Eome ;  the 
same  here  as  there,  with  no  difference  at  all.  There 
was  the  calm  of  manner  that  had  struck  her  then, 
along  with  the  readiness  for  action ;  the  combina- 
tion was  peculiar,  and  expressed  in  every  turn  of 
head  and  hand.  Here,  in  a  strange  house,  he  was 
as  absolutely  at  ease  and  unconstrained  as  if  he 
had  been  on  the  quarter  deck  of  his  own  ship.  Is 
it  the  habit  of  command?  thought  Dolly.  But 
that  does  not  necessarily  give  a  man  ease  of  man- 
ner in  his  intercourse  with  others  who  are  not 
under  his  command.  Meanwhile  Mr.  Shubrick  sat 
and  talked,  keeping  up  a  gentle  run  of  unexciting 
thoughts,  and  apparently  as  much  at  home  in  the 
kitchen  of  Brierley  Cottage  as  if  he  had  lived  there 
always. 

"  When  have  you  seen  Christina  ?  "  Dolly  asked. 

"  Not  in  some  months." 


THE  NURSE.  609 

"  Are  they  at  Sorrento  yet  ?  " 

"  No ;  they  spent  the  winter  in  Rome,  and  this 
summer  they  are  in  Switzerland.  I  had  a  letter 
from  Miss  Thayer  the  other  day.  I  mean,  a  few 
weeks  ago." 

It  occurred  to  Dolly  that  one  or  the  other  of  them 
must  be  a  slack  correspondent. 

"  I  almost  wonder  they  could  leave  Sorrento,"  she 
remarked. 

"They  got  tired  of  it." 

"  I  never  get  tired  of  lovely  things,"  said  Dolly. 
"The  longer  I  know  them  the  better  pleasure  I 
take  in  them.  I  could  have  stayed  in  Venice,  it 
seemed  to  me,  for  years;  and  Rome — I  should  never 
have  got  away  from  Rome  of  my  own  accord,  if 
duty  had  not  made  me;  and  then  at  Naples,  I  en- 
joyed it  better  the  last  day  than  the  first.  And 
Sorrento — " 

"  What  about  Sorrento  ?  " 

"  0  it  was— you  know  what  Sorrento  is.  It  was 
roses  and  myrtles  and  orange  blossoms,  and  the  fire 
of  the  pomegranate  flowers  and  the'  grey  of  the 
olives;  and  the  Italian  sun,  and  the  Italian  air;  and 
Mr.  Shubrick,  you  know  what  the  Mediterranean 
is,  with  all  its  colours  under  the  shadow  of  the  cliffs 
and  the  sunlight  on  the  open  sea.  And  Vesuvius 
was  always  a  delightful  wonder  to  me.  And  the 
people  were  so  nice.  Sorrento  is  perfect."  A  soft 
breath  of  a  sigh  came  from  Dolly's  heart. 

"  You  do  not  like  England  so  well  ?  " 

"No.     0  no!     But  I  could  like  England.— Mr. 

39 


610  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

Shubrick,  my  time  at  Sorrento  was  almost  without 
care;  and  you  know  that  makes  a  difference." 

"  Would  you  like  to  live  without  care  ?  "  said  he. 

Dolly  looked  at  him,  the  question  seemed  so 
strange.  "  Without  anxious  care — I  should,"  she 
answered. 

"That  you  may,  anywhere." 

"  How  is  it  possible,  sometimes  ? "  Dolly  asked 
wistfully. 

"  May  I  be  Yankee  enough  to  answer  your  ques- 
tion by  another  ?  Is  it  any  relief  to  you  to  have 
me  come  in  and  take  the  watch  for  to-night  ?  " 

"The  greatest,"  said  Dolly.  "I  cannot  express 
to  you  how  great  it  is;  for  mother  and  I  have  had 
it  all  to  do  for  so  long.  I  cannot  tell  you,  Mr. 
Shubrick,  in  what  a  strange  lull  of  rest  I  have 
been  sitting  here  since  we  came  down  stairs.  I 
have  just  let  my  hands  fall." 

"How  can  you  be  sure  it  is  safe  to  do  that?"  he 
said  smiling. 

"0,"  said  Dolly,  "  I  know  you  will  take  care;  and 
while  you  do,  I  need  not." 

Mr.  Shubrick  was  silent.     Dolly  pondered. 

"  Do  I  know  what  you  mean  ?  "  she  said. 

"  I  think  you  do,"  he  replied.  "  Do  you  remem- 
ber it  is  written, — '  Casting  your  care  upon  him, 
for  lie  carethfor  you.' " 

"And  that  means,  not  to  care  myself?" 

"  Not  anxiously,  or  doubtfully.  You  cannot  trust 
your  care  to  another,  and  at  the  same  time  keep  it 
yourself." 


THE  NURSE.  611 

"I  know  all  that,"  said  Dolly  slowly;  "or  I 
thought  I  knew  it.  How  is  it  then  that  it  is  so 
difficult  to  get  the  good  of  it  ?  " 

"Was  it  very  difficult  to  trust  me?"  Mr.  Shu- 
brick  asked. 

"No — "  said  Dolly,  "because — you  know  you 
are  not  a  stranger,  Mr.  Shubrick.  I  feel  as  if  I 
knew  you." 

He  lifted  his  eyes  and  looked  at  her;  not  re- 
garding the  compliment  to  himself,  but  with  a 
steady,  keen  eye  carrying  Dolly's  own  words 
home  to  her.  He  did  not  say  a  word;  but  Dolly 
changed  colour. 

"  O  do  you  mean  that  ? "  she  cried,  almost  with 
tears.  "  Is  it  because  I  know  Christ  so  poorly  that 
I  trust  him  so  slowly  ?  " 

"  What  else  can  it  be  ?  And  you  know,  Miss 
Dolly,  just  that  absolute  trust  is  the  thing  the 
Lord  wants  of  us.  And  you  know  it  is  the  thing 
of  all  others  that  we  like  from  one  another.  We 
need  not  be  surprised  that  He  likes  it;  for  we  were 
made  in  his  image." 

Dolly  sat  silent,  struck  and  moved  both  with 
sorrow  and  gladness;  for  if  it  were  possible  so  to 
lay  down  care,  what  more  could  burden  her?  and 
that  she  had  not  done  it,  testified  to  more  strange- 
ness and  distance  on  her  part  towards  her  best 
Friend  than  she  liked  to  think  of.  Her  musings 
were  interrupted  by  Mr.  Shubrick. 

"  Now  may  I  be  introduced  to  Mr.  Copley  ?  "  he 
said. 


612  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

Dolly  was  rather  doubtful  about  the  success  of 
this  introduction.  However,  she  brought  her  moth- 
er out  of  the  sick  room,  and  took  Mr.  Shubrick  in ; 
and  there,  in  obedience  to  his  desire,  left  him,  with- 
out an  introduction ;  for  her  father  was  asleep. 

"  He  will  never  let  him  stay  there,  Dolly,"  said 
Mrs.  Copley.  "  He  will  not  bear  it  at  all."  And 
Dolly  waited  and  feared  and  hoped.  But  the  night 
drew  on,  and  came  down  upon  the  world;  Mrs. 
Copley  went  to  bed,  at  Dolly's  earnest  suggestion, 
and  was  soon  fast  asleep,  fatigue  carrying  it  over 
anxiety;  and  Dolly  watched  and  listened  in  vain 
for  sounds  of  unrest  from  her  father's  room.  None 
came;  the  house  was  still;  the  summer  night  was 
deliciously  mild ;  Dolly's  eyelids  trembled  and  closed, 
and  opened,  and  finally  closed  again,  not  to  open 
till  the  summer  morning  was  bright  and  the  birds 
making  a  loud  concert  of  their  morning  song. 

Mr.  Shubrick,  left  alone  with  his  patient,  sat 
down  and  waited;  reviewing  meanwhile  the  room 
and  his  surroundings.  It  was  a  moderate-sized, 
neat,  pretty  room,  with  one  window  looking  out 
upon  the  garden.  The  casement  was  two-leaved, 
and  one  leaf  only  was  part  open.  The  air  conse- 
quently was  close  and  hot.  And  if  the  room  was 
neat,  that  applies  only  to  its  natural  and  normal 
condition;  for  if  neatness  includes  tidiness,  it  could 
not  be  said  at  present  to  deserve  that  praise. 
There  was  an  indescribable  litter  everywhere, 
such  as  is  certain  to  accumulate  in  a  sick  room 
if  the  watchers  are  not  imbued  with  the  spirit  of 


THE  NURSE.  613 

order.  Here  were  one  or  two  spare  pillows,  on  so 
many  chairs;  over  the  back  of  another  chair  hung 
Mr.  Copley's  dressing-gown ;  at  a  very  unconnected 
distance  from  his  slippers  under  a  fourth  chair.  On 
still  another  chair  lay  a  plate  and  knife  with  the  re- 
mains of  an  orange ;  on  the  mantelpiece,  the  rest  of 
the  chairs,  the  tables,  and  even  the  floor,  stood  a  mis- 
cellaneous assortment  of  cups,  glasses,  saucers,  bot- 
tles, spoons,  and  pitchers,  large  and  small,  attached 
to  as  varied  an  assemblage  of  drinks  and  medicines. 
Only  one  medicine  was  to  be  given  from  time  to 
time,  Mr.  Shubrick  had  been  instructed;  and  that 
was  marked,  and  he  recognized  it;  what  were  all 
the  rest  of  this  assemblage  doing  here?  Some 
books  lay  about  also,  and  papers,  and  magazines; 
here  a  shawl,  there  some  articles  of  female  apparel ; 
and  a  basket  of  feminine  work.  The  litter  was  gen- 
eral, and  somewhat  disheartening  to  a  lover  of  or- 
der; Mrs.  Copley  being  one  of  those  people  who 
have  nothing  of  the  sort  belonging  to  them,  and 
indeed  during  the  most  of  her  life  accustomed  to 
have  somebody  else  keep  order  for  her;  servants 
formerly,  Dolly  of  late.  Mr.  Shubrick  sat  and 
looked  at  all  these  things,  but  made  no  movement, 
until  by  and  by  his  patient  awoke.  It  was  long- 
past  sunset  now,  the  room  in  partial  twilight,  yet  il- 
lumination enough  still  reflected  from  a  very  bright 
sky  for  the  two  people  there  to  see  each  what  the 
other  looked  like.  Mr.  Copley  used  his  eyes  in  this 
investigation  for  a  few  minutes  in  silence. 
"  Who  are  you  ?  "  he  inquired  abruptly. 


614  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  A  friend." 

"What  friend?     You  are  a  friend  I  don't  know." 

"That  is  true;  but  it  will  not  be  true  to-morrow," 
Mr.  Shubrick  said  quietly. 

"  What  are  you  here  for?  " 

"  To  act  the  part  of  a  friend,  if  you  will  allow 
me.  I  am  here  to  wait  upon  you,  Mr.  Copley." 

"  Thank  you,  I  prefer  my  own  people  about  me," 
said  the  sick  man  curtly.  "You  may  go,  and  send 
them,  or  some  of  them,  to  me." 

"I  cannot  do  that,"  said  the  stranger,  "and 
you  must  put  up  with  me  for  to-night.  Mrs.  Cop- 
ley and  your  daughter  are  both  very  tired,  and 
need  rest." 

"  Humph ! "  said  the  invalid  with  a  surprised 
grunt.  "  Did  they  send  you  here  ?  " 

"No.  They  permitted  me  to  come.  I  take  it  as 
a  great  privilege." 

"  You  take  it  before  you  have  got  it.  I  have  not 
given  my  leave  yet.  What  are  you  doing  there  ?  " 

"  Letting  some  fresh  air  in  for  you."  Mr.  Shu- 
brick  was  setting  wide  open  both  leaves  of  the 
casement. 

"You  mustn't  do  that.  The  night  air  is  not  good 
for  me.  Shut  the  window." 

"You  cannot  have  any  air  at  night  but  night  air," 
replied  Mr.  Shubrick,  uttering  what  a  great  author- 
ity has  since  spoken,  and  leaving  the  window  wide 
open. 

"But  night  air  is  very  bad.  I  don't  want  it;  do 
you  hear  ? " 


THE  NURSE.  615 

"  If  you  will  lie  still  a  minute  or  two,  you  will 
begin  to  feel  that  it  is  very  good.  It  is  full  of  the 
breath  of  roses  and  mignonette,  and  a  hundred 
other  pleasant  things." 

"  But  I  tell  you,  that's  poison ! "  cried  Mr.  Copley, 
beginning  to  excite  himself.  "I  choose  to  have  the 
window  shut;  do  you  hear  me,  sir?  Confound  you, 
I  want  it  shut !  " 

The  young  man,  without  regarding  this  order, 
came  to  the  bedside,  lifted  Mr.  Copley's  head  and 
shook  up  his  pillows  and  laid  him  comfortably 
down  again. 

"Lie  still,"  he  said,  "and  be  quiet.  You  are  un- 
der orders,  and  I  am  in  command  here  to-night.  I 
am  going  to  take  care  of  you,  and  you  have  no 
need  to  think  about  it.  Is  that  right? " 

"  Yes — "  said  the  other,  with  another  grunt  half 
of  astonishment  and  half  of  relief, — "  that's  right. 
But  I  want  the  window  shut,  I  tell  you." 

"  Now  you  shall  have  your  broth.  It  will  be 
ready  presently." 

"I  don't  want  any  broth!"  said  the  sick  man. 
"  If  you  could  get  me  a  glass  of  wine; — that  would 
set  me  up.  I'm  tired  to  death  of  these  confounded 
slops.  They  are  nothing  for  a  man  to  grow  strong 
upon.  Never  would  make  a  man  strong — never !  " 

Mr.  Shubrick  made  no  answer.  He  was  going 
quietly  about  the  room. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  said  the  other  presently, 
watching  him. 

"  Making  things  ship-shape — clearing  decks." 


616  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  What  do  you  know  about  clearing  decks  ?  "  said 
Mr.  Copley. 

"  I  will  shew  you." 

And  the  sick  man  watched  with  languid  amuse- 
ment to  see  how,  as  his  new  nurse  went  from  place 
to  place,  the  look  of  the  room  changed.  Shawls  and 
clothing  were  folded  up  and  bestowed  on  a  chest  of 
drawers ;  slippers  were  put  ready  for  use  at  the  bed 
side ;  books  were  laid  together  neatly  on  the  table ; 
and  a  small  army  of  cups  and  glasses  and  empty 
vials  were  fairly  marched  out  of  the  room.  Tn  a 
little  while  the  apartment  was  in  perfect  order, 
and  seemed  half  as  large  again.  The  invalid  drew 
a  long  breath. 

"  You're  an  odd  one ! "  said  he  when  he  caught 
Mr.  Shubrick's  eye  again.  "  Where  did  you  learn 
all  that  ?  and  who  are  you  ?  and  how  did  you  come 
here  ?  I  have  a  right  to  know." 

"You  have  a  perfect  right,  and  shall  know  all 
about  me,"  was  the  answer;  "  but  first  here  is  your 
broth,  hot  and  good."  (Mr.  Shubrick  had  just  re- 
ceived it  from  the  little  maid  at  the  door).  "  Take 
this  now,  and  to-morrow,  if  you  behave  well,  you 
shall  have  something  better." 

Mr.  Copley  suffered  himself  to  be  persuaded,  took 
the  broth,  and  then  repeated  his  question. 

"  I  am  Sandie  Shubrick,  lieutenant  in  the  United 
States  navy,  on  board  ship  'The  Red  Chief;  just 
now,  on  furlough,  and  in  England." 

"  What  did  you  come  to  England  for?  " 

"  Business,  and  pleasure." 


THE  NURSE.  617 

"  Which  do  you  call  this  you  are  about  now  ?  " 

"  Both,"  said  Mr.  Shubrick,  smiling.  "  Now  you 
may  lie  still,  and  keep  the  rest  of  your  questions 
for  another  time." 

Mr.  Copley  yielded,  and  lay  looking  at  his  new 
attendant,  till  he  dozed  off  into  unconsciousness. 
Waking  then  after  a  while,  hot  and  restless,  his 
nurse  brought  water  and  a  sponge  and  began 
sponging  his  face  and  neck  and  hands;  gently 
and  soothingly;  and  kept  up  the  exercise  until 
restlessness  abated,  breaths  of  satisfied  content 
came  at  easy  intervals;  and  finally  Mr.  Copley 
slumbered  off  peacefully,  and  knew  no  more. 
When  he  awoke  the  sun  was  shining  on  the 
oaks  of  Brierley  Park.  The  window  was  open, 
as  it  had  been  all  night,  and  by  the  window  sat 
Mr.  Shubrick,  looking  out.  The  sick  man  eyed 
him  for  a  while. 

"  Are  you  asleep  there  ?  "  he  said,  at  last,  grow- 
ing impatient  of  the  silence.  Mr.  Shubrick  got  up 
and  came  to  him. 

"  Good  morning !  "  said  he.  "  How  have  you 
rested?" 

"  I  believe  it's  the  best  night  I've  had  yet.  What 
were  you  doing  to  me  in  the  night  ?  using  a  sponge 
to  me,  weren't  you  ?  It  put  me  to  sleep.  I  believe 
it  would  cure  a  man  of  a  fever,  by  Jupiter." 

"  Not  by  Jupiter,"  said  Mr.  Shubrick.  "  And  you 
must  not  say  such  things  while  I  am  here." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  Mr.  Copley  opened  his  eyes  some- 
what. 


618  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  It  is  no  better  than  counterfeit  swearing." 

"Would  you  rather  have  the  true  thing? " 

"I  never  permit  either,  where  I  am  in  authority?" 

"  Your  authority  can't  reach  far.  You've  got  to 
take  the  world  as  you  find  it." 

"  I  dispute  that.  You've  got  to  take  the  world 
and  make  it  better." 

"  What  do  you  do  where  your  authority  is  not 
sufficient  ?  " 

"  I  go  away." 

"  Look  here,"  said  Mr.  Copley.  "  Do  you  call 
yourself  in  authority  here  ?  " 

"Those  are  the  only  terms  on  which  I  could  stay," 
said  Mr.  Shubrick  smiling. 

"  Well,  see,"  said  the  other, — "  I  wish  you  would 
stay.  You've  done  me  more  good  than  all  the  doc- 
tor and  everybody  else  before  you." 

"  I  come  after  them  all,  remember." 

"  I  wish  you  had  come  before  them.  Women 
don't  know  anything.  There's  my  wife,  she  would 
have  let  the  room  get  to  be  like  a  Jew's  old  clothes 
shop,  arid  never  be  aware  of  it.  I  didn't  know  what 
was  choking  me  so,  and  now  I  know  it  was  the 
confusion.  You  belong  to  the  navy  ?  " 

"  I  told  you  so  last  evening,"  said  Mr.  Shubrick, 
who  meanwhile  was  sponging  Mr.  Copley's  face  and 
hands  again  and  putting  him  in  order  generally,  so 
as  a  sick  man's  toilet  might  be  made. 

"By  Jupiter ! — I  beg  your  pardon — I  believe  I  am 
going  to  get  over  this  after  all,"  said  Mr.  Copley 
"  I  am  sure  I  shall,  if  you'll  stay  and  help  me." 


THE  NURSE.  619 

u  I  will  do  it  with  pleasure.  Now  what  are  you 
going  to  have  for  your  breakfast  ?  " 

"  But  look  here.  Why  should  you  stay  with 
me?  I  am  nothing  to  you.  Who's  to  pay  you 
for  it?" 

"  I  do  not  come  for  pay ;  or  rather,  I  get  it  as  I 
go  along.  Make  yourself  easy,  and  tell  me  about 
your  breakfast." 

"  How  do  you  come  here  ?  I  don't  know  you. 
Who  does  know  you  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  a  friend  of  your  friends,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Thayer,  for  many  years." 

"  Humph.  Ah !  Well.  About  breakfast,  I  don't 
know  what  they  have  got  for  me  down  stairs;  some 
lolypop  or  other." 

"  We'll  do  better  for  you  than  that,"  said  Mr. 
Shubrick. 

The  morning  meanwhile  had  come  to  the  other 
inmates  of  the  house.  Dolly  had  left  the  sofa 
where  she  had  spent  the  night,  with  a  glad  con- 
sciousness that  the  night  was  over  and  there  had 
been  no  disturbance.  Her  mother  had  slept  all  the 
night  through  and  was  sleeping  yet.  What  re- 
freshment and  comfort  it  was.  What  strength  and 
rest,  to  think  of  that  kind,  calm,  strong,  resolute 
man  in  her  father's  room ;  somebody  that  could  be 
depended  upon.  Dolly  thought  Christina  ought  to 
be  a  happy  woman,  with  always  such  a  hand  to 
support  her  all  her  life  long.  "  And  he  drinks  no 
wine,"  thought  Dolly ;  "  that  temptation  will  never 
overtake  him ;  she  will  never  have  to  be  ashamed 


620  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

of  him.  He  will  hold  her  up,  and  not  she  him. 
She  is  happy." 

The  worst  thing  about  Mr.  Shubrick's  coming 
was,  that  he  must  go  away  again !  However,  not 
yet;  he  would  be  seen  at  breakfast  first;  and  to 
prepare  breakfast  was  now  Dolly's  next  care.  Then 
she  got  her  mother  up  and  persuaded  her  to  make 
herself  nice  and  appear  at  the  meal. 

"  You  are  never  going  to  bring  him  down  into 
the  kitchen  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Copley  horrified,  when  she 
got  there. 

"Certainly,  mother;  it  is  no  use  trying  to  make 
a  fuss.  I  cannot  give  him  breakfast  anywhere 
else." 

"  Then  I  would  let  him  go  to  the  village,  Dolly, 
and  get  his  breakfast  there." 

"  But  that  would  be  very  inhospitable.  He  was 
here  at  supper,  mother;  I  don't  think  he  was 
frightened.  He  knows  just  how  we  are  situated." 

"  He  doesn't  know  you  have  nobody  to  help  you, 
I  hope  ?  " 

"  How  could  he  help  knowing  it  ?  The  thing  is 
patent.  Never  mind,  mother;  the  breakfast  will 
be  good,  if  the  breakfast  room  is  only  so  so.  If  you 
do  not  mind,  nobody  else  will." 

"  That  you  should  come  to  this !  "  said  Mrs.  Cop- 
ley sinking  into  a  chair.  "  My  Dolly !  Doing  a  ser- 
vant's work,  and  for  strangers,  and  nobody  to  help 
or  care !  And  what  are  we  coming  to  ?  I  don't 
see,  for  my  part.  You  are  ruined." 

"  Not  yet,"  said  Dolly  cheerfully.     "  If  I  am,  I  do 


THE  NURSE.  621 

not  feel  like  it.  Now,  mother,  see  if  you  can  get 
Mr.  Shubrick  down  here  before  my  omelette  is 
ruined;  for  that  is  the  greatest  danger  just  at 
present." 

It  was  not  quite  easy  to  get  Mr.  Shubrick  down 
there,  however ;  he  demurred  very  seriously ;  and  I 
am  afraid  the  omelette  was  something  the  worse 
before  he  came.  But  then  the  breakfast  was  rather 
gay.  The  watcher  reported  a  quiet  night,  and  as 
he  was  much  inclined  to  think,  an  amended 
patient. 

"Quiet!"  echoed  Mrs.  Copley.  "How  could  you 
keep  him  quiet  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  I  imagined  myself  on  board  ship," 
said  the  young  man  smiling,  "  and  gave  orders,  as 
1  am  accustomed  to  do  there.  Habit  is  a  great 
thing." 

"  And  Mr.  Copley  minded  your  orders  ?  " 

"That  is  understood." 

"  Well ! "  ejaculated  Mrs.  Copley.  "  He  never 
would  do  the  least  thing  I  or  Dolly  wanted  him  to 
do;  not  the  least  thing.  He  has  been  giving  the 
orders  all  along;  and  as  fidgetty  as  ever  he  could 
be.  Fidgetty  and  nervous.  Wasn't  he  fidgetty  ?  " 

"No;  very  docile  and  peaceable." 

"You  must  be  a  wonderful  man,"  said  Mrs. 
Copley. 

"  Habit,"  said  Mr.  Shubrick.  "  As  I  said,  it  is  a 
great  thing." 

"He  has  been  having  his  own  way  all  along," 
said  Mrs.  Copley ;  "  and  ordering  us  about,  and  do- 


622  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

ing  just  the  things  he  ought  not  to  do.  He  was  al- 
ways that  way." 

"  Not  the  proper  way  for  a  sick  room,"  said  Mr. 
Shubrick.  "You  had  better  instal  me  as  head 
nurse." 

How  Dolly  wished  they  could  do  that !  As  she 
saw  him  there  at  the  table,  with  his  quiet  air  of  effi- 
ciency and  strength,  Dolly  thought  what  a  treasure 
he  was  in  a  sick  house ;  how  strong  she  felt  while 
she  knew  he  was  near.  Perhaps  Mrs.  Copley's 
thoughts  took  the  same  turn ;  she  sighed  a  little  as 
she  spoke. 

"  You  have  been  very  kind,  Mr.  Shubrick. 
We  shall  never  forget  it.  You  have  been  a 
great  help.  If  Mr.  Copley  would  only  get  better 

11OW — " 

"  I  am  going  to  see  him  better  before  I  go." 

"  0  we  could  not  ask  any  more  help  of  you." 

"You  need  not,"  and  Mr.  Shubrick  smiled.  "Mr. 
Copley  has  done  me  the  honour  to  ask  me." 

"  Air.  Copley  has  asked  you ! — "  repeated  Mrs. 
Copley  in  bewilderment.  "  What  ?  " 

"Asked  me  to  stay." 

"  To  stay  and  nurse  him  ?  " 

"Yes.  And  I  said  I  would.  You  cannot  turn 
me  away  after  that." 

"  But  you  have  your  own  business  in  England," 
Dolly  here  put  in. 

"  This  is  it,  I  think." 

"Your  own  pleasure,  then.  You  did  not  come 
to  England  for  this." 


THE  NURSE.  623 

"  It  seems  I  did,"  he  said.  "  I  am  off  duty,  Miss 
Dolly,  I  told  you;  here  on  furlough,  to  do  what  I 
like;  and  there  is  nothing  else  at  present  that  I 
should  like  half  so  well." 

Dolly  scored  another  private  mark  here  to  the 
account  of  Mr.  Shubrick's  goodness;  and  in  the 
ease  which  suddenly  came  to  her  own  mind,  felt  as 
if  her  head  were  growing  light  and  giddy.  But  it 
was  no  illusion  or  dream.  Mr.  Shubrick  was  really 
there,  finishing  his  breakfast,  and  really  going  to 
stay  and  take  care  of  her  father;  and  Dolly  felt  as 
if  the  tide  of  their  affairs  had  turned. 

So  indeed  it  proved.  From  that  time  Mr.  Shu- 
brick  assumed  the  charge  of  the  sick  room,  by 
night  and  also  by  day.  He  went  for  a  walk  to  the 
village  sometimes,  and  always  got  his  dinner  there ; 
the  rest  of  the  time  he  was  at  the  cottage,  attend- 
ing to  everything  that  concerned  Mr.  Copley. 
Dolly  and  her  mother  were  quite  put  away  from 
that  care.  And  whether  it  were  the  moral  force 
of  character,  which  acted  upon  Mr.  Copley,  or 
whether  it 'were  that  his  disorder  had  really  run 
its  length  and  that  a  returning  tide  of  health  was 
coming  back  to  its  channels,  the  sick  man  certainly 
was  better.  He  grew  better  from  day  to  day. 
He  had  been  quiet  and  manageable  from  the  first 
in  his  new  nurse's  hands;  now  he  began  to  take 
pleasure  in  his  society,  holding  long  talks  with 
him  on  all  possible  subjects.  Appetite  mended 
also,  and  strength  was  gradually  replacing  weak- 
ness, which  had  been  very  great.  Anxiety  on  the 


624  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

one  score  of  her  father's  recovery  was  taken  away 
from  Dolly. 

Other  anxieties  remained,  and  even  pressed 
harder,  when  the  more  immediately  engrossing 
care  was  removed.  In  spite  of  Mr.  Shubrick's  lec- 
ture about  casting1  off  care,  Dolly  found  it  difficult 
to  act  upon  the  truth  she  knew.  Her  little  fund 
of  money  was  much  reduced;  she  could  not  help 
asking  herself  how  they  were  going  to  live? 
Would  her  father,  as  soon  as  he  was  strong  enough, 
go  back  to  his  former  ways  and  be  taken  up  with 
his  old  companions?  and.  if  he  did,  how  much 
longer  could  the  little  household  at  Brierley  strug- 
gle on  alone?  AVhat  had  become  of  all  her 
father's  property  in  America,  from  which  in  old 
time  the  income  had  always  been  more  than  suffi- 
cient for  all  their  wants  and  desires  ?  Was  it  gone 
irrevocably  ?  or  had  only  the  ready  money  accru- 
ing from  it  been  swallowed  up  in  speculation  or 
pleasure  ?  And  whence  could  Dolly  get  light  011 
these  points,  or  how  know  what  steps  she  ought 
to  take?  Could  her  weakness  do  anything,  in 
view  of  that  fact  to  which  her  mother  had  alluded, 
that  M*.  Copley  always  took  his  own  way  ?  It 
was  all  utter  and  dark  confusion  as  she  looked  for- 
ward. Could  Dolly  trust  and  be  quiet  ? 

In  her  meditations  another  subject  occupied  her 
a  good  deal.  The  presence  of  Sandie  Shubrick  was 
such  a  comfort  that  it  was  impossible  not  to  think 
Avhat  she  would  do  without  him  when  he  was  gone. 
He  was  a  universal  comfort.  Since  he  had  taken 


THE  NURSE.  625 

charge  of  the  sick  room,  the  sickness  was  disap- 
pearing; while  he  was  in  command,  there  was  no 
rebellion;  the  affairs  of  the  household  worked 
smoothly,  and  Dolly  had  no  need  to  draw  a  single 
'long  breath  of  perplexity  or  anxiety.  The  sound 
of  that  even,  firm  step  on  the  gravel  walk  or  in 
the  hall,  was  a  token  of  security;  the  sight  of  Mr. 
Shubrick's  upright,  alert  figure  anywhere  was  good 
for  courage  and  hope.  His  resolute  calm  face  was 
a  light  in  the  house.  Dolly's  thoughts  were  much 
busied  with  him  and  with  involuntary  speculations 
about  him  and  Christina.  It  was  almost  unavoid- 
able. She  thought,  as  indeed  she  had  thought 
before,  that  Miss  Thayer  was  a  happy  woman,  to 
have  so  much  strength  and  goodness  belonging  to 
her.  What  a  shielded  life  hers  would  be,  by  this 
man's  side.  He  would  never  neglect  her  or  prefer 
his  interests  to  hers;  he  would  never  give  her  cause 
to  be  ashamed  of  him ;  and  here  Dolly's  lips  some- 
times quivered  and  a  hot  tear  or  two  forced  their 
way  out  from  under  her  eyelids.  And  how  could 
possibly  Christina  so  play  fast  and  loose  with  him, 
do  dishonour  to  so  much  goodness,  and  put  off  her 
consent  to  his  wishes  until  all  grace  was  gone  out 
of  it?  Mr.  Shubrick  apparently  had  made  up  his 
mind  to  this  treatment  and  was  not  cast  down  by 
it ;  or  perhaps  would  he,  so  self-reliant  as  he  was, 
be  cast  down  utterly  by  anything  ? 

I  think  perhaps  Dolly  thought  too  much  about 
Mr.  Shubrick.     It  was  difficult  to  help  it.     He  had 
brought  such  a  change  into  her  life ;  he  was  doing 
40 


626  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

such  a  work  in  the  house;  he  was  so  very  pleas- 
ant a  companion  at  those  breakfasts  and  suppers  in 
the  kitchen.  For  his  dinner  Mr.  Shubrick  persisted 
in  going  to  the  village  inn.  He  said  the  walk  did 
him  good.  He  had  become  in  these  few  days  quite 
as  one  of  themselves.  And  now  he  would  go.  Mr. 
Copley  was  fast  getting  well,  and  his  nurse  would 
go.  Dolly  could  not  bear  to  think  of  it. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

UNDER    AN    OAK    TREE. 

MORE  than  a  week  passed,  and  Mr.  Copley  was 
steadily  convalescent.  He  had  not  left  his 
room  yet,  but  he  needed  no  longer  the  steady  at- 
tendance of  some  one  bound  to  minister  to  his 
wants.  Dolly  was  expecting  now  every  day  to 
hear  Mr.  Shubrick  say  he  must  bid  them  good  bye ; 
and  she  took  herself  a  little  to  task  for  caring  so 
much  about  it.  What  was  Sandie  Shubrick  to  her, 
that  she  should  feel  such  a  heart-sinking  at  the 
prospect  of  his  departure  ?  It  was  a  very  wonder- 
ful thing  that  he,  Christina  Thayer's  Mr.  Shubrick, 
should  have  come  to  help  this  little  family  in  its 
need;  it  was  very  astonishing  that  he  should  be 
there  even  then,  waiting  on  Dolly  Copley's  sick  fa- 
ther; let  her  be  satisfied  with  this  so  unexpected 
good,  and  bid  him  farewell  as  easily  as  she  had  bid 
him  welcome.  But  Dolly  could  not.  How  could 
she  ?  she  said  to  herself.  And  every  time  she  saw 
Mr.  Shubrick  she  feared  lest  the  dreaded  words 
would  fall  from  his  lips.  So  when  he  came  to  her 
one  afternoon  when  she  was  sitting  in,  the  porch, 
her  heart  gave  a  throb  of  anticipation.  However, 


628  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

he  said  nothing  of  going,  but  remarked  how  pretty 
the  sloping  ground  looked,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
little  river,  with  its  giant  trees  and  the  sunlight 
streaming  through  the  branches  upon  the  green- 
sward. 

"It  is  very  pretty,"  said  Dolly.  "The  park  is 
beautiful.  You  ought  to  see  it." — Before  you  go, 
she  was  on  the  point  of  saying,  but  did  not  say. 

"  Will  you  come  with  me,  and  shew  me  what  I 
ought  to  look  at  ?  " 

"  Now  ?  "  said  Dolly. 

"  If  it  is  not  too  warm  for  you.  "We  might  take 
it  easily,  and  keep  in  the  shadow  of  the  trees." 

"  0  it  is  not  too  warm,"  said  Dolly;  and  she  ran 
to  fetch  her  garden  hat. 

It  was  not  August  now;  the  summer  was  past, 
yet  the  weather  was  fit  for  the  height  of  summer. 
Warm,  spicy,  dry  air,  shewing  misty  in  the  dis- 
tance like  a  gossamer  veil,  and  near  by  a  still  glow 
over  everything.  The  two  young  people  wandered 
over  the  bridge  and  slowly  mounted  the  bank  among 
the  oaks  and  beeches,  keeping  in  the  shade  as 
much  as  might  be.  There  was  a  glorious  play  of 
shadow  and  sunlight  all  over  the  woodland;  and 
the  two  went  softly  along,  hardly  disturbing  the 
wild  creatures  that  looked  at  them  now  and  then. 
For  the  woods  were  full  of  life.  They  saw  a  hare 
cross  an  opening,  and  grey  squirrels  eyed  them 
from  the  great  oak  branches  overhead;  and  there 
was  a  soft  hum  of  insects  filling  all  the  silence.  It 
was  not  the  time  of  day  for  the  birds  to  be  merry. 


UNDER  AN  OAK  TREE.  629 

Nor  perhaps  for  the  human  creatures  who  slowly- 
passed  from  tree  to  tree,  avoiding  the  spaces  of 
sunlight  and  summer  glow.  They  were  neither 
merry,  nor  talked  much. 

"  This  is  very  noble,"  said  Sandie  at  last. 

"Were  you  ever  in  England  before,  Mr.  Shu- 
brick  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  you  have  seen  many  of  these  fine  places 
already,  perhaps  ?  " 

"No,  not  many.  My  stay  has  been  mostly  in 
London;  though  I  did  run  down  a  little  into  the 
country." 

"People  say  we  have  nothing  like  this  in 
America." 

"True,  I  suppose,"  said  Sandie.  "We  are  too 
youug  a  people,  and  we  have  had  something  else 
to  do." 

"It  is  like  a  dream,  that  anybody  should  have 
such  a  house  and  such  a  place  as  Brierley,"  Dolly 
went  on.  "  There  is  nothing  wanting  that  one  can 
imagine,  for  beauty  and  dignity  and  delight  of  liv- 
ing and  luxury  of  ease.  It  might  be  the  Arabian 
Nights,  or  fahyland.  You  must  see  the  house, 
with  its  lovely  old  carvings,  and  pictures,  and  old, 
old  furniture;  and  the  arms  of  the  family  that 
built  it  carved  and  painted  everywhere,  on  doors 
and  chairs  and  mantelpieces." 

"  Of  the  family  that  built  it  ?  "  repeated  Mr.  Shu- 
brick.  "  Not  the  family  that  owns  it  now  ?  " 

"  No.     You  see  their  arms  too,  but  the  others  are 


630  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

the  oldest.  And  then  it  would  take  you  hours  to 
go  through  the  gardens.  There  are  different  gar- 
dens; one,  most  exquisite,  framed  in  with  trees, 
and  a  fountain  in  the  middle,  and  all  the  beds  filled 
with  rare  plants.  But  I  do-  not  like  anything  about 
the  place  better  than  these  trees  and  greensward." 

"  It  must  be  a  difficult  thing,"  said  Sandie  medi- 
tatively, "to  use  it  all  for  Christ." 

Dolly  was  silent  a  while.  "  I  don't  see  how  it 
could  be  used  so,"  she  said. 

The  other  made  no  answer.  They  went  slowly 
on  and  on,  getting  up  to  the  higher  ground  and 
more  level  going,  while  the  sun's  rays  coming  a 
little  more  slant  as  the  afternoon  declined,  gave  an 
increasing  picturesqueness  to  the  scene.  Mr.  Shu- 
brick  had  been  for  some  time  almost  entirely  silent, 
when  Dolly  proposed  to  stop  and  rest. 

"  One  enjoys  it  better  so,"  she  said.  "  One  has 
better  leisure  to  look.  And  I  wanted  to  talk  to 
you,  besides." 

Her  companion  was  very  willing,  and  they  took 
their  places  under  a  great  oak,  on  the  swell  of 
greensward  at  the  foot  of  it.  Ground  and  grass 
and  moss  were  all  dry.  Dolly  sat  down  and  laid 
off  her  hat;  however,  the  proposed  "talk"  did  not 
seem  to  be  ready,  and  she  let  Mr.  Shubrick  wait. 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  you  something,"  said  she  at 
last.  "  I  have  been  wanting  to  ask  you  something 
for  a  good  while." 

There  she  stopped.  She  was  not  looking  at  him ; 
she  was  taking  care  not  to  look  at  him;  she  was 


UNDER  AN  OAK  TREE.  631 

trying  to  regard  Mr.  Shubrick  as  a  foreign  abstrac- 
tion. Seeing  which,  he  began  to  look  at  her  more 
persistently  than  hitherto. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  he  asked,  with  not  a  little  curiosity. 

"There  is  nobody  else  I  can  ask,"  Dolly  went 
on;  "and  if  you  could  give  me  the  help  I  want,  it 
would  be  a  great  thing  for  me." 

"  I  will  if  I  can." 

The  young  man's  eyes  did  not  turn  away  now. 
And  Dolly  was  an  excessively  pretty  thing  to  look 
at;  so  taken  up  with  her  own  thoughts  that  she 
was  in  no  danger  of  finding  out  that  she  was  an 
object  of  attention  or  perhaps  admiration.  Her 
companion  perceived  this,  and  indulged  his  eyes 
fearlessly.  Dolly's  fair,  flushed  face  was  thin  with 
the  work  and  the  care  of  many  weeks  past;  the 
traces  of  that  were  plain  enough;  yet  it  was  deli- 
cately fair  all  the  same,  and  perhaps  more  than 
ever,  with  the  heightened  spirituality  of  the  ex- 
pression. The  writing  on  her  features,  of  love  and 
purity,  habitual  self-devotion  and  self-forgetfulness, 
patience  and  sweetness,  was  so  plain  and  so  un- 
conscious, that  it  made  her  a  very  rare  subject  of 
contemplation  and  as  her  companion  thought,  ex- 
tremely lovely.  Her  attitude  spoke  the  same  un- 
consciousness ;  her  dress  was  of  the  simplest  ,de- 
scription ;  her  brown  hair  was  tossed  into  disorder ; 
but  dress  and  hair  and  attitude  alike  were  deli- 
ciously  graceful,  with  that  mingling  of  character- 
istics of  child  and  woman  which  was  peculiar  to 
Dolly.  Lieutenant  Shnbrick  was  familiar  with  a 


632  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

very  diverse  type  of  womanly  charms  in  the  shape 
of  his  long-betrothed  Miss  Thayer.  The  compari- 
son, or  contrast,  might  be  interesting;  at  any  rate, 
any  one  who  had  eyes  to  read  this  type  before  him 
needed  no  contrast  to  make  it  delightful ;  and  prob- 
ably Mr.  Shubrick  had  such  eyes.  He  was  quite 
silent,  leaving  Dolly  to  choose  her  time  and  her 
words  at  her  own  pleasure. 

"  I  know  you  will,"  she  said  slowly,  taking  up 
his  last  words; — "you  have  already;  but  I  am  a 
bad  learner.  You  know  what  you  said,  Mr.  Shu- 
brick,  the  day  you  came,  that  evening  when  we 
were  at  supper, — about  trusting,  and  not  taking 
care  ?  " 

"Yes." 

Dolly  did  not  look  at  him,  and  went  on.  "  I  do 
not  find  that  I  can  do  it." 

"  Do  what  ?  " 

"  Lay  down  care.     Quite  lay  it  down." 

"  It  is  not  easy,"  Mr.  Shubrick  admitted. 

"Is  it  possible,  always ?  I  find  I  can  trust 
pretty  well  when  I  can  see  at  least  a  possible  way 
out  of  difficulties;  but  when  the  way  seems  all 
shut  up,  and  no  opening  anywhere, — then — I  do 
not  quite  lay  down  care.  How  can  I  ?  " 

"  There  is  only  one  thing  that  can  make  it  possi- 
ble." 

"I  know — you  told  me; — but  how  then  can  I 
get  that  ?  I  must  be  very  far  from  the  knowledge 
of  Christ — if  that  is  what  is  wanting." 

Dolly's  eyes  filled  with  tears. 


UNDER  AN  OAK  TREE.  (533 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Shubrick  gently,  "  but  perhaps  it 
does  follow,  that  you  have  not  enough  of  that 
knowledge." 

"Of  course.  And  how  shall  I  get  it?  I  can 
trust  when  I  see  some  light,  but  when  I  can  see 
none,  I  am  afraid." 

"  If  I  promised  to  take  you  home,  I  mean,  to 
America,  by  ways  known  to  me  but  unknown 
to  you,  could  you  trust  me  and  take  the  steps  I 
bade  you." 

I  am  not  justifying  Mr.  Shubrick.  This  was  a 
kind  of  tentative  speech  for  his  own  satisfaction ;  > 
but  he  made  it,  watching  for  Dolly's  answer  the 
while.  It  came  without  hesitation. 

"  Yes,"  she  said.  "  I  should  believe  you,  if  you 
told  me  so." 

"Yet  in  that  case  you  would  follow  me  blindly." 

"  Yes." 

"  Seeing  no  light." 

"Yes.  But  then  I  know  you  enough  to  know 
that  you  would  not  promise  what  you  would  not 
do." 

"Thank  you.  This  is  by  way  of  illustration. 
You  would  not  be  afraid  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit.  I  see  what  you  mean,"  said  Dolly, 
colouring  a  little. 

"Do  you  think  there  is  anything  friends  can 
give  one  another,  so  precious  as  such  trust." 

"  No — I  suppose  not." 

"Is  it  wonderful,  if  the  Lord  wants  it  of  his 
children  ?  " 


634  THE  EMD  OF  A  COIL. 

"No.  0  Mr.  Shubrick,  I  am  ashamed  of  my- 
self! What  is  the  reason  that  I  can  give  it  to  you, 
for  instance,  and  not  to  Him  ?  Is  it  just  wicked- 
ness ?  " 

"  It  is  rather,  distance." 

"  Distance  !     Then  how  shall  I  get  near  ?  " 

"  Do  you  know  what  a  question  you  are  asking 
me  ?  One  of  the  grandest  that  a  creature  can  ask. 
It  is  the  question  of  questions.  For  to  get  near, 
is  to  see  the  Lord's  beauty;  and  to  see  him  is  to 
love  him,  and  to  love  with  that  absolute  confidence. 
'  Thou  wilt  keep  him  in  perfect  peace,  whose  mind 
is  stayed  on  thee.'  And,  'This  is  life  eternal,  to 
know  thee.'" 

"  Then  how,  Mr.  Shubrick  ?  "  said  Dolly.  "  How 
is  one  to  do  ? "  She  was  almost  tearful  in  her 
earnestness.  But  he  spoke,  earnestly  enough,  yet 
with  a  smile. 

"  There  are  two  sides  to  the  question.  On  your 
side,  you  must  do  what  you  would  do  in  any 
case  where  you  wanted  to  cultivata  a  friendship. 
How  would  that  be  ?  " 

Dolly  pondered.  "  I  never  put  it  so  to  myself," 
she  said  slowly,  "  and  yet  I  suppose  it  must  be  so. 
Why,  in  any  such  case  I  should  try  to  see  a  great 
deal  of  the  person  I  wanted  to  make  a  friend  of. 
I  would  be  in  the  person's  company,  hear  him  talk, 
or  hear  her  talk,  if  it  was  a  woman;  and  talk  to 
her.  It  would  be  the  only  way  we  could  become 
known  to  each  other." 

"Translate,  now." 


UNDER  AN  OAK  TREE.  635 

"Translate?"  said  Dolly.     "You  mean, — " 

"  Apply  to  the  case  in  hand." 

"You  mean,"  said  Dolly,  "that  to  study  the 
Bible  is  to  hear  the  Lord  speak;  and  to  pray, 
is  to  speak  to  him." 

"To  study  the  Bible  with  a  heart  ready  to 
obey  all  it  finds — that  is  hearing  the  Lord  speak; 
and  if  prayer  is  telling  him  your  thoughts  and 
wishes  in  your  own  language,  that  is  speaking 
to  him." 

"But  it  is  speaking  without  an  answer." 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  It  is  speaking  without 
an  audible  answer;  that  is  all." 

"  Then  how  does  the  answer  come  ?  " 

"In  receiving  what  you  ask  for;  in  finding  what 
you  seek." 

Dolly  brushed  away  a  tear  again. 

"  One  needs  to  take  a  good  deal  of  time  for  all 
that,"  she  said  presently. 

"  Can  you  cultivate  a  friendship  on  any  other 
terms  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  not.  This  is  quite  a  new  view  of  the- 
whole  matter,  Mr.  Shubrick.  To  me." 

"  Common  sense.     And  Bible." 

"  Does  the  Bible  speak  of  it  ?  " 

"  The  Bible  speaks  of  the  life  of  religion  as  con- 
tained in  our  knowing  God  and  in  his  knowing 
us." 

"  But  He, — he  knows  everybody." 

"Not  in  this  way.  It  is  the  sweet  knowledge 
of  intimate  friendship  and  relations  of  affection. 


636  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

'I  know  thee  by  name,'  was  one  of  the  reasons 
given  why  the  Lord  would  grant  Moses'  bold 
prayer.  '  I  have  called  thee  by  thy  name,  thou  art 
mine,'  is  the  word  to  his  people  Israel.  '  He  call- 
eth  his  own  sheep  by  name,'  you  know  it  is  said 
of  the  Good  Shepherd.  And  '  they  shall  all  know 
me,'  is  the  promise  concerning  the  church  in 
Christ.  While  you  remember,  the  sentence  of 
dismissal  to  the  others  will  be  simply,  '  I  know 
you  not.'  And,  'the  Lord  knoweth  them  that 
are  his.' " 

There  was  silence;  and  then  Dolly  said,  "You 
said  there  were  two  sides  to  the  question." 

"  Yes.  Your  part  we  have  talked  about ;  it  is  to 
study,  and  ask,  and  obey,  and  believe.  The  Lord's 
part  is  to  reveal  himself  to  you.  It  is  a  matter 
of  revelation.  You  cannot  attain  it  by  any  efforts 
of  your  own,  be  they  never  so  determinate.  There- 
fore your  prayer  must  be  constantly  like  that  of 
Moses — 'I  beseech  thee,  shew  me  thy  glory.'  And 
you  see,  that  makes  your  part  easy,  because  the 
other  part  is  sure." 

"  Mr.  Shubrick,  you  are  a  very  comforting  talk- 
er ! "  said  Dolly. 

"  Nay,  I  am  only  repeating  the  Lord's  words  of 
comfort." 

"So  I  am  to  study,  and  yet  study  will  not  do 
it,"  said  Dolly.  "  And  I  am  to  pray,  and  yet 
prayer  will  not  give  it." 

"  Study  will  not  do  it,  certainly.  But  when  the 
Lord  bestows  his  light,  study  becomes  illumina- 


UNDER  AN  OAK  TREE.  637 

tion.  No,  prayer  does  not  give  it,  either;  yet 
you  must  ask  if  yon  would  have.  And  Christ's 
promise  to  one  who  loves  him  and  keeps  his  com- 
mandments is, — you  recollect  it, — '  I  will  love  him 
and  wiU  manifest  myself  to  him.' " 

"That  will  do,  Mr.  Shubrick,  thank  you,"  said 
Dolly  rising.  "  You  need  not  say  any  more.  I 
think  I  understand.  And  I  am  very  much  obliged 
to  you." 

Mr.  Shubrick  made  no  answer.  They  went 
saunteringly  along  under  the  great  trees,  rather 
silent  both  of  them  after  that.  As  the  sun  got 
lower  the  beauty  of  the  wooded  park  ground  grew 
more  exceeding.  All  that  a  most  noble  growth 
of  trees  could  shew,  scattered  and  grouped,  all 
that  a  most  lovely  undulation  of  ground  surface 
could  give,  in  slope  and  vista  and  broken  light 
and  shadow,  was  gilded  here  and  there  with  vivid 
gold  or  filled  elsewhere  with  a  sunny  misty  glow 
of  vapourous  rays,  as  if  the  air  were  streaming 
with  gold  dust  among  the  trees.  All  tints  and 
hues  of  greensward,  moss  and  fern,  under  all  con- 
ditions of  illumination,  met  their  wondering  eyes ; 
and  for  a  while  there  was  little  spoken  but  exclama- 
tions of  delight  and  discussion  of  beautiful  effects 
that  came  under  review.  They  went  on  so,  from 
point  to  point,  by  much  the  same  way  that  Dolly 
had  taken  on  her  first  visit  to  the  park;  till  they 
came  out  as  she  had  done  from  the  thinner  part 
of  the  woodland,  and  stood  at  the  edge  of  the 
wide  plain  of  open  greensward  which  stretched 


638  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

on  up  to  the  House.  Here  they  stood  still.  The 
low  sun  was  shining  over  it  all ;  the  great  groups 
of  oaks  and  elms  stood  in  full  revealed  beauty  and 
majesty;  and  in  the  distance  the  House  looked 
superbly  down  over  the  whole. 

"There  is  hardly  anything  about  Brierley  that 
I  like  better  than  this,"  said  Dolly.  "  Isn't  it 
lovely  ?  I  always  delight  in  this  great  slope  of 
•wavy  green  ground;  and  see  how  it  is  emphasized 
and  set  off  by  those  magnificent  trees  ?  And  the 
House  looks  better  from  nowhere  than  from  here." 

"  It  is  very  noble — it  is  exceeding  beautiful," 
Mr.  Shubrick  assented. 

"Now  this,  I  suppose,  one  could  not  see  in  Amer- 
ica," Dolly  went  on;  "nor  anything  like  it." 

"America  has  its  own  beauties;  doubtless  noth- 
ing like  this.  There  is  the  dignity  of  many  gen- 
erations here.  But,  Miss  Dolly,  as  I  said  before, — 
it  would  be  difficult  to  use  all  this  for  Christ." 

"  I  do  not  see  how  it  could  be  done,"  said  Dol- 
ly. "  Mr.  Shubrick,  I  happen  to  know,  it  takes 
seven  or  eight  thousand  a  year — or  more — to  keep 
the  place  up.  Pounds  sterling,  I  mean;  not  dol- 
lars. Merely  to  keep  the  establishment  up  and  in 
order." 

"And  yet,  if  I  were  its  owner,  I  should  find  it 
hard  to  give  up  these  ancestral  acres  and  trees,  or 
to  cease  to  take  care  of  them.  I  am  glad  I  am  a 
poor  man ! " 

"  Give  them  up  ?  "  said  Dolly.  "  Do  you  think 
that  would  be  duty  ?  " 


UNDER  AN  OAK  TREE.  639 

"I  do  not  know.  How  could  I  take  seven  or 
eight  thousand  pounds  a  year  just  to  keep  up  all 
this  magnificence,  when  the  money  is  so  wanted 
for  the  Lord's  work,  in  so  many  ways  ?  When  it 
would  do  such  great  things,  given  to  him." 

"Then,  Mr.  Shubrick,  the  world  must  be  very 
much  mistaken  in  its  calculations.  People  would 
not  even  understand  you,  if  they  heard  you  say 
that." 

"  Do  you  understand  me  ?  " 

"0  yes.  And  yet  I  cannot  tell  you  what  de- 
light I  take  in  all  this,  every  time  I  see  it.  The 
feeling  of  satisfaction  seems  to  go  to  my  very 
heart.  And  so  when  I  am  in  the  house, — and 
the  gardens.  0  you  have  not  seen  the  gardens, 
nor  the  house  either;  and  there  is  no  time  to-day. 
But  I  do  not  know  that  I  enjoy  anything  much 
more  than  this  view.  Though  the  house  is  deli- 
cious, Mr.  Shubrick." 

"  I  can  believe  it,"  he  said  smiling.  "  You  see 
what  reason  I  have  to  rejoice  that  I  am  a  poor 
man." 

Dolly  thought,  poor  child,  as  they  turned  and 
went  homeward,  she  could  hardly  go  so  far  as  to 
rejoice  that  she  was  a  poor  woman.  Not  that  she 
wanted  Brierley;  but  she  did  dread  possible  priva- 
tion which  seemed  to  be  before  her.  She  feared 
the  uncertainty  which  lay  over  her  future  in  re- 
gard to  the  very  necessaries  of  life.;  she  shrank  a 
little  from  the  difficulty  and  the  struggle  of  exist- 
ence, which  she  knew  already  by  experience. 


640  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

And  then, — Mr.  Slmbrick,  who  had  been  such  a 
help  and  had  made  such  a  temporary  diversion  of 
her  troubled  thoughts,  would  be  soon  far  away; 
she  had  noticed  that  he  did  not  speak  of  some 
other  future  opportunity  of  seeing  the  house  and 
gardens,  when  she  remarked  that  it  was  too  late 
to-day.  He  would  be  going  soon;  this  one  walk 
with  him  was  probably  the  last;  and  then  the  old 
times  would  set  in  again.  Dolly  went  along  down 
among  the  great  oaks  and  beeches,  down  the  bank 
now  getting  in  shadow,  and  spoke  hardly  a  word. 
And  Mr.  Shubrick  was  as  silent  as  she,  probably 
as  busy  with  his  own  thoughts.  So  they  went, 
until  they  came  again  in  sight  of  the  bridge  and 
the  little  river  down  below  them,  and  a  few  steps 
more  would  have  brought  the  cottage  into  view. 

"  We  have  come  home  fast,"  said  Mr.  Shubrick. 
"  Do  you  think  we  need  go  in  and  shew  ourselves 
quite  yet  ?  Suppose  we  sit  down  here  under  this 
tree  for  a  few  minutes  again,  and  enjoy  all  we 
can." 

Dolly  knew  it  must  be  approaching, the  time  for 
her  to  see  about  supper;  but  she  could  not  with- 
stand the  proposal.  She  sat  down  silently  and 
took  off  her  hat  to  cool  herself. 

"  I  come  here  very  often,"  she  said,  "  to  get  a 
little  refreshment.  It  is  so  pleasant,  and  so  near 
home." 

"You  call  Brierley  'home.'  Have  you  accepted 
it  as  a  permanent  home  ?  " 

"What  can  we  do?"  said  Dolly.     "Mother  and 


UNDER  AN  OAK  TREE.  641 

I  long  to  go  back  to  America — we  cannot  persuade 
father." 

"  Miss  Dolly,  will  you  excuse  me  for  remarking 
that  you  wear  a  very  peculiar  watch  chain,"  Mr. 
Shubrick  said  next,  somewhat  irrelevantly. 

"  My  watch  chain !  0  yes,  I  know  it  is  pecu- 
liar," said  Dolly.  "  For  anything  I  know,  there  is 
only  one  in  the  world." 

"  May  I  ask,  whose  manufacture  it  is  ?  " 

"  It  was  made  by  somebody — a  sort  of  a  friend, 
and  yet  not  a  friend  either — somebody  I  shall 
never  see  again." 

"  Ah  ?     How  is  that  ?  " 

"It  is  a  great  while  ago,"  said  Dolly.  "I  was  a 
little  girl.  At  that  time  I  was  at  school  in  Phila- 
delphia, and  staying  with  aii'auut  there.  0  Aunt 
Hal !  how'  I  would  like  to  see  her ! — The  girls  were 
all  taken  one  day  to  see  a  man  of  war,  lying  in  the 
river ;  our  schoolmistress  took  us ;  it  was  her  way 
to  take  us  to  see  things  on  the  holidays ;  and  this 
time  it  was  a  man  of  war;  a  beautiful  ship;  the 
'Achilles.'  My  chain  is  made  out  of  some  threads 
of  a  cable  on  board  the  'Achilles.'  " 

"  You  did  not  make  it  ?  " 

"  No  indeed.  I  could  not,  nor  anybody  else  that 
I  know.  The  manufacture  is  exquisite  Look  at 
it,"  said  Dolly,  putting  chain  and  watch  in  Mr. 
Shubrick's  hand. 

"But  somebody  must  have  made  it,"  said  the 
young  officer,  examining  the  chain  attentively. 

"Yes.  Tt  was  odd  enough.  The  others  were 
41 


642  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

having  lunch ;  I  could  not  get  into  the  little  cabin 
x  where  the  table  was  set,  the  place  was  so  full;  and 
so  I  wandered  away  to  look  at  things.  I  had  not 
seen  them  half  enough.  Arid  then  one  of  the 
young  officers  of  the  ship  found  me — he  was  a 
midshipman,  I  believe — and  he  was  very  good  to 
me.  He  took  me  up  and  down  and  round  and 
about;  and  then  I  was  trying  to  get  a  little  bit  of 
a  piece  off  a  cable  that  lay  coiled  up  on  the  deck 
and  could  not,  and  he  said  he  would  send  me  a 
piece;  and  he  sent  me  that." 

"  Seems  strong — "  said  Mr.  Shubrick,  still  exam- 
ining the  chain. 

"0  it  is  very  strong." 

"This  is  a  nice  little  watch.  Deserves  a  better 
thing  to  carry  it." 

"  Better ! "  cried  Dolly,  stretching  out  her  hand 
for  the  chain.  "  You  do  not  appreciate  it.  I  like 
this  better  than  any  other.  I  always  wear  this. 
Father  gave  me  a  very  handsome  gold  chain;  he 
was  of  your  opinion;  but  I  have  never  had  it  on. 
This  is  my  cable."  She  slipped  the  chain  over  her 
neck  as  she  spoke. 

"  What  makes  you  think  you  will  never  see  the 
maker  of  the  cable  again  ?  " 

"  0  that  is  a  part  of  the  story  I  did  not  tell  you. 
With  the  chain  came  a  little  note,  asking  me  to 
say  that  I  had  received  it,  and  signed  'A.  Crown- 
inshield.'  I  can  shew  you  the  note.  I  have  it 
in  my  work-box  at  home.  Do  you  know  anybody 
of  that  name  in  the  navy,  Mr.  Shubrick  ?  " 


UNDER  AN  OAK  TREE.  643 

"  Midshipman  ?  " 

"He  might  not  be  a  midshipman  now,  you 
know.  That  is  nine  years  ago." 

"True.  I  do  not  know  of  a  Lieutenant  Crown- 
inshield  in  the  navy — and  I  am  sure  there  is  no 
captain  of  that  name." 

"  That  is  what  I  thought,"  said  Dolly.  "  I  do 
not  believe  he  is  alive.  Whenever  I  saw  in  the  pa- 
pers mention  of  a  ship  of  the  navy  in  port,  I  used 
to  go  carefully  over  the  lists  of  her  officers;  but 
I  never  could  find  the  name  of  Crowninshield." 

Mr.  Shubrick  here  produced  his  pocketbook,  and 
after  some  opening  of  inner  compartments,  took  out 
a  small  note,  which  he  delivered  to  Dolly.  Dolly 
handled  it  at  first  in  blank  surprise,  turned  it  over 
and  over,  finally  opened  it. 

"  Why  this  is  my  note ! "  she  cried,  very  much 
confounded.  "  My  own  little  note  to  that  midship- 
man. Here  is  my  name.  And  here  is  his  name. 
How  did  you  get  it,  Mr.  Shubrick?"  she  asked 
looking  at  him.  But  his  face  told  her  nothing. 

"  It  was  given  to  me,"  he  said. 

"  By  whom  ?  " 

"  By  the  messenger  that  brought  it  from  you." 

"  The  messenger  ?  But  you — you-^-you  are  some- 
body else ! " 

Mr.  Shubrick  laughed  out. 

"Am  I?"  said  he.  "Well  perhaps, — though  I 
think  not." 

"  But  you  are  not  that  midshipman  ?  " 

"  No.     I  was  he,  though." 


644  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  Your  name, — your  name  is  not  Crowninshield?" 

"Yes.  That  is  one  of  my  names.  Alexander 
Crowninshield  Shubrick,  at  your  service." 

Dolly  looked  at  him,  like  a  person  awake  from 
a  dream,  trying  to  read  some  of  the  remembered 
lineaments  of  that  midshipman  in  his  face.  He 
bore  her  examination  very  coolly. 

"  Why — 0  is  it  possible  you  are  he  ?  "  cried  Dolly 
with  an  odd  accent  of  almost  disappointment, 
which  struck  Mr.  Shubrick  but  was  inexplicable. — 
"  Why  did  you  not  sign  your  true  name  ?  " 

"  Excuse  me.  I  signed  my  true  name,  as  far  as 
it  went." 

"  But  not  the  whole  of  it.     Why  didn't  you  ?  " 

"  I  had  a  reason.  I  did  not  wish  you  to  trace 
me." 

"  But  please,  why  not,  Mr.  Shubrick  ?  " 

"We  might  say,  it  was  a  boy's  folly." 

"  I  shall  not  say  so,"  said  Dolly  tendering  the  note 
back.  "  I  dare  say  you  had  some  reason  or  other. 
But  I  cannot  somehow  get  my  brain  out  of  a  whirl. 
I  thought  you  were  somebody  else  ! — Here  is  your 
note,  Mr.  Shubrick.  I  cannot  imagine  what  made 
you  keep  it  so  long." 

His  hand  did  not  move  to  receive  the  note. 

"  I  have  been  keeping  it  for  this  time,"  he  an- 
swered. "  And  now,  I  do  not  want  to  keep  it  any 
longer,  Miss  Dolly,  unless — unless  I  may  have  you 
too." 

Dolly  looked  at  him  now  with  a  face  of  startled 
inquiry  and  uneasiness.  Whether  she  were  more 


UNDER  AN  OAK  TREE.  645 

startled  or  incredulous  of  what  she  heard,  it  would 
be  impossible  to  say.  The  expression  in  her  eyes 
grew  to  be  almost  terror.  But  Mr.  Shubrick 
smiled  a  little  as  he  met  them. 

"  I  kept  the  note,  for  I  always  knew,  from  that 
time,  that  I  should  marry  that  little  girl,  if  ever  I 
could  find  her, — and  if  she  would  let  me." 

Dolly's  face  was  fairly  blanched.  "But — you 
belong  to  somebody  else,"  she  said. 

"  No,"  said  he, — "  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  belong 
to  nobody  in  the  world,  but  myself.  And  you." 

"  Christina  told  me — " 

"She  told  you  true,"  said  Mr.  Shubrick  quite 
composedly.  "  There  was  a  connection  subsisting 
between  us,  which  while  it  lasted  bound  us  to  each 
other.  It  happened,  as  such  things  happen ;  years 
ago  we  were  thrown  into  each  other's  company,  in 
the  country,  when  I  was  home  on  leave.  My  home 
was  near  hers;  we  saw  a  great  deal  of  each  other; 
and  fancied  that  we  liked  each  other  more  than 
the  fact  was,  or  rather  in  a  different  way.  So  we 
were  engaged ;  on  my  part  it  was  one  of  those  boy- 
ish engagements  which  boys  frequently  form  before 
they  know  their  own  minds,  or  what  they  want. 
On  the  other  side  you  can  see  how  it  was  from  the 
circumstances  of  the  case.  Christina  did  not  care 
enough  about  me  to  want  to  be  married;  she  al- 
ways put  it  off ;  and  I  was  not  deeply  enough  con- 
cerned to  find  the  delay  very  hard  to  bear.  And 
then,  when  I  saw  you  in  Rome  that  Christmas  time, 
I  knew  immediately  that  if  ever  in  the  world  I  mar- 


646  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

ried  anybody,  it  would  be  the  lady  that  wore  that 
chain." 

"  But  Christina  ? — "  said  Dolly,  still  with  a  face 
of  terrified  trouble.  Was  then  Mr.  Shubrick  a 
traitor,  false  to  his  engagements,  deserting  a  per- 
son to  whom,  whether  willingly  or  not,  he  was  every 
way  bound  ?  He  did  not  look  like  a  man  conscious 
of  dishonourable  dealing,  of  any  sort;  and  he  an- 
swered in  a  voice  that  was  both  calm  and 
unconcerned. 

"  Christina  and  I  are  good  friends,  but  not  en- 
gaged friends  any  more.  Will  you  read  that  ?  " 

He  handed  Dolly  another  letter  as  he  spoke,  and 
Dolly,  bewildered,  opened  it. 

"  Ischl,  May  6,  18—. 
"  DEAR  SAXDIE, 

"  You  are  quite  ridiculous  to  want  me  to  write 
this  letter,  for  anybody  that  knows  you  knows  that 
whatever  you  say  is  the  truth,  absolutely  unmixed 
and  unvarnished.  Your  word  is  enough  for  any 
statement  of  facts,  without  mine  to  help  it.  How- 
ever, since  you  will  have  it  so,  here  I  am  writing. 

"  But  really  it  is  very  awkward.  What  do  you 
wish  me  to  say,  and  how  shall  I  say  it?  You 
want  a  testimony,  I  suppose.  Well  then,  this  is  to 
certify,  that  you  and  I  are  the  best  friends  in  the 
world,  and  mean  to  remain  so,  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  we  once  meant  to  be  more  than  friends,  and 
have  found  out  that  we  made  a  mistake.  Yes,  it 
was  a  mistake.  We  both  know  it  now.  But  any- 


UNDER  AN  OAK  TREE.  647 

body  may  be  mistaken ;  it  is  no  shame,  either  to 
you  or  me,  especially  since  we  have  remedied  the 
error  after  we  discovered  it.  Eeally  I  am  in  ad- 
miration of  our  clear-sightedness  and  bravery,  in 
breaking  loose,  in  despite  of  the  trammels  of  con- 
ventionality. But  you  never  were  bound  by  those 
trammels,  or  any  other,  except  what  you  call 
'duty.'  So  I  herewith  declare  you  free, — that  is 
what  you  want  me  to  say,  is  it  not?  free  with  all 
the  honours,  and  with  the  full  preservation  of  my 
regards  and  high  consideration.  Indeed,  I  do  not 
believe  1  ever  shall  hold  anybody  else  in  quite  such 
high  consideration;  but  perhaps  that  very  fact 
made  me  unfit  to  be  anything  but  your  friend.  I 
am  afraid  you  are  too  good  for  me,  in  stern  earnest ; 
but  I  have  a  notion  that  will  be  no  disadvantage  to 
you  in  certain  other  sweet  eyes  that  I  know ;  the 
goodness,  I  mean,  not  anything  else. 

"We  are  here,  at  this  loveliest  of  lovely  places; 
but  we  have  got  enough  of  it,  and  are  going  to 
spend  some  weeks  in  the  Tyrol.  I  suppose  I  know 
where  to  imagine  you,  at  least  part  of  the  summer. 
And  you  will  know  where  to  imagine  me  next 
winter,  when  I  tell  you  that  in  the  fall  the  .proba- 
bility is  that  I  shall  become  Mrs.  St.  Leger.  You 
may  tell  Dolly.  Didn't  I  remark  to  her  once  that 
she  and  I  had  better  effect  an  exchange  ?  Funny, 
wasn't  it?  However,  for  the  present  I  am  as  I 
have  long  been 

"  Your  very  sincere  friend 

"  CHRISTINA  THAYER." 


648  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

Doll}7  read  the  letter  and  stared  at  it,  and  finally 
returned  it  without  raising  her  eyes.  And  then 
she  sat  looking  straight  before  her,  while  her  face 
might  be  likened  to  the  evening  sky  when  the 
afterglow  is  catching  the  clouds.  From  point  to 
point  the  flush  catches,  cloud  after  cloud  is  lighted 
up,  until  under  the  whole  heaven  there  is  one  crim- 
son glow.  Dolly  was  not  much  given  to  blushing, 
she  was  not  at  all  wont  to  be  a  prey  to  shyness; 
what  had  come  over  her  now  ?  When  Lawrence 
St.  Leger  had  talked  to  her  on  this  very  same  sub- 
ject, she  had  been  able  to  answer  him  with  scarce- 
ly a  rise  of  colour  in  her  cheeks;  with  a  calm  and 
cool  exercise  of  her  reasoning  powers,  which  left 
her  fully  mistress  of  the  situation  and  of  herself. 
She  had  not  been  disturbed  then,  she  had  not  been 
excited.  What  was  the  matter  now  ?  For  Dolly 
was  overtaken  by  an  invincible  fit  of  shyness,  such 
as  never  had  visited  her  in  all  her  life.  I  do  not 
think  now  she  knew  that  she  was  blushing;  ac- 
cording to  her  custom,  she  was  not  self-conscious ; 
what  she  was  conscious  of,  intensely,  was  Mr.  Shu- 
brick's  presence,  and  an  overwhelming  sense  of  his 
identity  with  the  midshipman  of  the  "Achilles." 
What  that  had  to  do  with  Dolly's  shyness,  it  might 
be  hard  to  tell;  but  her  sweet  face  flushed  till 
brow  and  neck  caught  the  tinge,  and  the  eyelids 
fell  over  the  eyes,  and  Dolly  for  the  moment  was 
mistress  of  nothing.  Mr.  Shubrick  looking  at  her, 
and  seeing  those  lovely  flushes  and  her  absolute 
gravity  and  silence,  was  in  doubt  what  it  might 


UNDER  AN  OAK  TREE.  649 

mean.  He  thought  that  perhaps  nobody  had  ever 
spoken  to  her  on  such  a  subject  before ;  yet  Dolly 
was  no  silly  girl,  to  be  overcome  by  the  mere 
strangeness  of  his  words.  Did  her  silence  and 
gravity  augur  ill  for  him  ?  or  well  ?  And  then, 
without  being  in  the  least  a  coxcomb,  it  occurred  to 
him  that  her  excessive  blushing  told  on  the  hope- 
ful side  of  the  account.  He  waited.  He  saw  she 
was  as  shy  as  a  just  caught  bird ;  was  she  caught  ? 
He  would  not  make  so  much  as  a  movement  to 
startle  her  further.  He  waited,  with  something 
at  his  heart  which  made  it  easier  every  moment 
for  him  to  wait. 

But  in  the  nature  of  the  case,  waiting  has  its 
limits. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?"  he  in- 
quired at  length,  in  a  very  gentle  manner.  "  Give 
me  my  note  back  again,  with  the  conditions  ?  " 

Dolly  did  nothing  of  the  kind.  She  held  the 
note,  it  is  true,  and  looked  a:t  it,  but  without  mak- 
ing any  movement  to  restore  it  to  its  owner.  So 
decided  an  action  did  not  seem  at  the  moment  pos- 
sible to  her.  She  looked  at  the  little  note,  with 
the  prettiest  sort  of  embarrassment,  and  presently 
rose  to  her  feet.  "  I  am  sure  it  is  time  to  have 
supper,"  she  said,  "and  they  cannot  do  anything 
at  home  till  I  come." 

Mr.  Shubrick  rose  too  and  followed  Dolly,  who 
set  off  unceremoniously  down  the  bank  towards 
the  bridge.  He  followed  her,  half  smiling,  and 
wholly  impatient.  Yet  though  a  stride  or  two 


650  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

would  have  brought  him  alongside  of  her,  he  would 
not  make  them.  He  kept  behind,  and  allowed  her 
to  trip  on  before  him,  which  she  did  with  a  light, 
hasty  foot,  until  they  neared  the  little  gate  of  the 
courtyard  belonging  to  the  house.  Then  he  stepped 
forward  and  held  the  gate  open  for  her  to  enter, 
not  saying  a  word.  Dolly  passed  him  with  the 
loveliest  shy  down-casting  of  her  eyelids,  and  went 
on  straight  into  the  house.  He  saw  the  bird  was 
fluttering  yet,  but  he  thought  he  was  sure  of  her. 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

HOW    IT    WAS    SETTLED. 

DOLLY  threw  off  her  hat  and  went  down  to  the 
kitchen  premises.  Mr.  Shubrick  repaired  to 
the  sick  room  and  relieved  Mrs.  Copley.  That 
lady,  descending  to  the  lower  part  of  the  house, 
found  Dolly  very  busy  with  the  supper  table,  and 
apparently  much  flushed  with  the  hot  weather. 

"  Your  father's  getting  well ! "  she  said  with  a 
sigh. 

"That's  good  news,  I  am  sure,  mother." 

"Yes, — it's  good  news,"  Mrs.  Copley  repeated 
doubtfully;  "but  it  seems  as  if  everything  good 
in  this  world  had  a  bad  side  to  it." 

Dolly  stood  still.    "  What's  the  matter?  "  she  said. 

"0  he's  so  uneasy.  As  restless  end  fidgetty 
as  a  fish  out  of  water.  He  is  contented  with 
nothing  except  when  Mr.  Shubrick  is  near  him; 
he  behaves  quietly  then  at  least,  however  he  feels. 
I  believe  it  takes  a  man  to  manage  a  man.  Though 
1  never  saw  a  man  before  that  could  manage  your 
father.  He  laughs  at  it,  and  says  it  is  the  habit  ol 
giving  orders." 

"Who  laughs  at  it?" 


652  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"Mr.  Shubrick,  to  be  sure.  You  don't  suppose 
your  father  owns  to  minding  orders  ?  But  he  does 
mind,  for  all  that.  What  will  become  of  us  when 
that  young  man  goes  away  ?  " 

"  Why,  mother  ?  " 

"  My  patience,  Dolly !  what  have  you  done  to 
heat  yourself  so !  Your  face  is  all  flushed.  Do 
keep  away  from  the  fire,  or  you'll  certainly  spoil 
your  complexion.  You're  all  flushed  up,  child." 

"  But  father, — what  about  father  ?  " 

"0  he's  just  getting  ready  to  take  his  own  head, 
as  soon  as  Mr.  Shubrick  slips  the  bridle  off.  He's 
talking  of  going  up  to  town  already ;  and  he  will 
go,  I  know,  as  soon  as  he  can  go;  and  then,  Dol- 
ly, then — 1  don't  know  what  will  become  of  us  !  " 

Mrs.  Copley  put  her  hands  over  her  face,  and 
the  last  words  were  spoken  with  such  an  accent 
of  forlorn  despair,  that  Dolly  saw  her  mother 
must  have  found  out  or  divined  much  that  she  had 
tried  to  keep  from  her.  She  hesitated  with  her 
answer.  Somehow,  the  despair  and  the  forlorn- 
ness  had  gone  out  of  Dolly's  heart. 

"  I  hope — J  think — there  will  be  some  help, 
mother." 

"  Where  is  it  to  come  from  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Copley 
sharply.  "  We  are  as  alone  as  we  can  be.  We 
might  as  well  be  on  a  desert  island.  Now  you 
have  sent  off  Mr.  St.  Leger — 0  how  obstinate  chil- 
dren are !  and  how  little  they  know  what  is  for 
their  good ! " 

This  subject  was  threadbare.     Dolly  let  it  drop. 


How  IT  WAS  SETTLED.  653 

It  may  be  said  she  did  that  with  every  subject  that 
was  started  that  evening.  Mr.  Shubrick  at  supper 
made  brave  efforts  to  keep  the  talk  a  going;  but  it 
would  not  go.  Dolly  said  nothing;  and  Mrs.  Cop- 
ley in  the  best  of  times  was  never  much  help  in  a 
conversation.  Just  now  she  had  rather  a  preoc- 
cupied manner;  and  I  am  by  no  means  certain 
that,  with  the  superhuman  keenness  of  intuition 
possessed  by  mothers,  she  had  not  begun  to  dis- 
cern a  subtle  danger  in  the  air.  The  pressure 
of  one  fear  being  removed,  there  was  leisure  for 
any  other  to  come  up.  However,  Mr.  Shubrick 
concerned  himself  only  about  Dolly's  silence,  and 
watched  her  to  find  out  what  it  meant.  She  at- 
tended to  all  her  duties,  even  to  taking  care  of 
him,  which  to  be  sure  was  one  of  her  duties;  but 
she  never  looked  at  him.  The  same  veil  of  shy 
grace  which  had  fallen  upon  her  in  the  wood,  was 
around  her  still,  and  tantalized  him. 

Nor  did  he  get  another  chance  to  speak  to  her 
alone  through  the  next  two  days  that  passed ;  care- 
fully as  he  sought  for  it.  Dolly  was  not  to  be  found 
or  met  with,  unless  sitting  at  the  table  behind  her 
tea  urn  and  with  her  mother  opposite.  Mr.  Shu- 
brick bided  his  time  in  a  mixture  of  patience  and 
impatience.  The  latter  needs  no  accounting  for; 
the  former  was  half  brought  about  and  maintained 
by  the  exquisite  manner  of  Dolly's  presentation  of 
herself  those  days.  The  delicate  coy  grace  which 
invested  her,  it  is  difficult  to  describe  it  or  the  effect 
of  it.  She  was  not  awkward,  she  was  not  even 


654  THE  END  or  A  COIL. 

embarrassed,  the  least  bit  in  the  world;  she  was 
grave  and  fair  and  unapproachable,  with  the  rarest 
maidenly  shyness,  which  took  the  form  of  the  rar- 
est womanly  dignity.  She  was  grave,  at  least  when 
Mr.  Shubrick  saw  her;  but  watching  her  as  he  did 
narrowly  and  constantly,  he  could  perceive  now 
and  then  a  slight  break  in  the  gravity  of  her  looks, 
which  made  his  heart  bound  with  a  great  thrill. 
It  was  not  so  much  a  smile  as  a  light  upon  her 
lips;  a  play  of  them;  which  he  persuaded  himself 
was  not  unhappy.  The  loveliness  of  the  whole 
manifestation  of  Dolly  during  those  two  days, 
went  a  good  way  towards  keeping  him  quiet ;  but 
naturally  it  worked  two  ways.  And  human  pa- 
tience has  limits. 

The  second  day,  Mr.  Shubrick's  had  given  out. 
He  came  in  from  his  walk  to  the  village,  bringing 
Mrs.  Copley  something  she  had  commissioned  him 
to  get  from  thence;  and  found  both  ladies  sit- 
ting at  a  late  dinner.  And  not  the  young  officer's 
eyes  alone  marked  the  sudden  flush  which  rose  in 
Dolly's  cheeks  when  he  appeared,  and  the  lowered 
eyelids  as  he  stood  opposite  her. 

"We  began  to  review  the  park,  the  other  day," 
he  said,  eyeing  her  steadily.  "Can  we  have  an- 
other walk  in  it  this  afternoon,  Miss  Dolly  ?  The 
first  was  so  pleasant." 

"  I  shouldn't  think  you'd  go  pleasuring  just 
now,  Dolly,  when  your  father  wants  you,"  said 
Mrs.  Copley.  "You  have  seen  hardly  anything 
of  him  lately.  I  should  think  you  would  go  and 


How  IT  WAS  SETTLED.  655 

sit  with  him  this  afternoon.  I  know  he  would 
like  it." 

Whether  this  arrangement  was  agreeable  to  the 
present  parties  concerned,  or  either  of  them,  did 
not  appear.  Of  course  the  most  decorous  acquies- 
cence was  all  that  came  to  light.  A  little  later, 
Mr.  Shu  brick  himself,  being  thus  relieved  from 
duty,  quitted  the  house  and  strolled  down  to  the 
bridge  and  over  it  into  the  park;  and  Dolly  slowly 
went  up  stairs  to  her  father's  room.  It  was  true, 
she  had  been  there  lately  less  than  usual ;  but  there 
had  been  a  reason  for  that.  Her  conscience  was 
not  charged  with  any  neglect. 

Mr.  Copley  seemed  sleepily  inclined;  anfl  after  a 
word  or  two  exchanged  with  him  Dolly  began 
to  go  round  the  room,  looking  to  see  if  anything 
needed  her  ordering  hand.  Truly  she  found  noth 
ing.  Coming  to  the  window,  she  paused  a  moment 
in  idle  wistfulness  to  see  how  the  summer  sunshine 
lay  upon  the  oaks  of  the  park.  And  standing  there, 
she  saw  Mr.  Shubrick,  slowly  going  over  the  bridge. 
She  turned  away  and  went  on  with  her  progress 
round  the  room. 

"What  are  you  about  there,  Dolly?"  Mr.  Copley 
called  to  her. 

"Just  seeing  if  anything  wants  my  attention, 
father." 

"  Nothing  does,  I  can  tell  you.  The  room  is  all 
right,  and  everything  in  it.  I've  been  kept  in 
order,  since  I  have  had  a  naval  officer  to  attend 
upon  me." 


656  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  Don't  I  keep  things  in  order,  father  ?  " 

"  If  you  do,  your  mother  don't.  She  thinks  that 
anywhere  is  a  place,  and  that  one  place  is  as  good 
as  another." 

"  Mother  seems  to  think  I  have  neglected  you 
lately.  Have  you  missed  me  ?  " 

"Missed  you!  no.  I  have  had  care  and  company. 
Where  did  you  pick  up  that  young  man,  Dolly  ?  " 

"  I,  father  ?     I  didn't  pick  him  up." 

"  How  came  he  here,  then  ?  What  brought 
him  ?  " 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Dolly.  "Would  you  like 
to  have  me  read  to  you  ?  " 

"  No,  phild.  Shubrick  reads  to  me  and  talks  to 
me.  He's  capital  company,  though  he's  one  of  your 
blue  sort." 

"Father!  He  is  not  blue,  nor  am  I.  Do  you 
think  I  am  blue  ?  " 

"  Sky  blue,"  said  her  father.  "  He's  navy  blue. 
That's  the  difference. " 

"  I  do  not  understand  the  difference,"  said  Dolly 
half  laughing. 

"Never  mind.  What  have  you  done  with  Mr. 
Shubrick  ?  " 

"I?"  said  Dolly  aghast. 

"Yes.     Where  is  he?" 

"Oh! — I  believe,  mother  sent  him  into  the 
park." 

"  Sent  him  into  the  park  ?     What  for  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  mean  that  she  sent  him,"  said  Dolly 
correcting  herself  in  some  embarrassment;  "I 


How  IT  WAS  SETTLED.  657 

mean,   that  she   sent  me   up   here,  and  he  went 
into  the  park." 

"  I  wish  he'd  come  back,  then.  I  want  him  to 
finish  reading  to  me  that  capital  article  on  English 
and  European  politics." 

"  Can  I  finish  it  ?  " 

"  No,  child.  You  don't  understand  anything 
about  the  subject.  Shubrick  does.  I  like  to  dis- 
cuss things  with  him ;  he's  got  a  clear  head  of  his 
own ;  he's  a  capital  talker.  When  is  he  going  ?  " 

"  Going  where,  father  ?  " 

"  Going  away.  He  can't  stay  here  forever,  read- 
ing politics  and  putting  my  room  in  order.  How 
long  is  he  going  to  stay  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know." 

"  Well — when  he  goes  I  shall  go !  I  shall  not  be 
able  to  hold  out  here.  I  shall  go  back  to  London. 
I  can't  live  where  there  is  not  a  man  to  speak  to 
some  time  in  the  twenty  four  hours.  Besides,  I 
can  do  nothing  here.  I  might  as  well  be  a  cab- 
bage, arid  a  cabbage  without  a  head  to  it." 

"  Are  we  cabbages  ? "  asked  Dolly  at  this. 
"  Mother  and  I  ?  " 

"Cabbage  roses,  my  dear;  cabbage  roses.  Noth- 
ing worse  than  that." 

"  But  even  cabbage  roses,  father,  want  somebody 
to  take  care  of  them." 

"  I'll  take  care  of  you.  But  I  can  do  it  best  in 
London." 

"Then  you   do   not   want  me  to  read  to  you 
father?  "  Dolly  said  after  a  pause. 
42 


658  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  No  my  dear,  no  my  dear.  If  you  could  find 
that  fellow  Shubrick — I  should  like  him." 

And  Mr.  Copley  closed  his  eyes  as  if  to  sleep, 
finding  nothing  worthy  to  occupy  his  waking  fac- 
ulties. Dolly  sat  by  the  window,  looking  out  and 
meditating.  Yes,  Mr.  Shubrick  would  be  going 
away,  probably  soon;  his  furlough  could  not  last 
always.  Meanwhile,  she  had  given  him  no  an- 
SAver  to  his  questions  and  propositions.  It  was 
rather  hard  upon  him,  Dolly  felt ;  and  she  had  a  sort 
of  yearning  sympathy  towards  her  suitor.  A  little 
impatience  seized  her  at  being  shut  up  here  in  her 
father's  room,  where  he  did  not  want  her,  and  kept, 
from  the  walk  in  the  park  with  Mr.  Shubrick,  who 
did  want  her.  He  wanted  her  very  much,  Dolly 
knew ;  he  had  been  waiting  patiently,  and  she  had 
disappointed  every  eifort  he  made  to  get  speech  of 
her  and  see  her  alone,  just  because  she  was  shy  of 
him  and  of  herself.  But  it  was  hardly  fair  to  him, 
after  all,  and  it  could  not  go  on.  He  had  a  right 
to  know  what  she  would  say  to  his  proposition ;  and 
she  was  keeping  him  in  uneasiness,  (to  put  it 
mildly,)  Dolly  knew  quite  well.  And  now,  when 
could  she  see  him  ?  when  would  she  have  a  chance 
to  speak  to  him  alone,  and  to  hear  all  that  she  yet 
wanted  to  hear?  but  indeed  Dolly  now  was  think- 
ing not  so  much  of  what  she  wanted  as  of  what  he 
wanted;  and  her  uneasiness  grew.  He  might  be 
obliged  to  go  off  suddenly ;  officers'  orders  are  stub- 
born things;  she  might  have  no  chance  at  all,  for 
ought  she  knew,  after  this  afternoon.  She  looked 


How  IT  WAS  SETTLED.  659 

at  her  father;  he  had  dozed  off.  She  looked  out  of 
the  window;  the  afternoon  sun,  sinking  away  in 
the  west,  was  sending  a  flood  of  warm  light  upon 
and  among  the  trees  of  the  park.  It  must  be  won- 
derfully pretty  there  !  It  must  be  vastly  pleasant 
there !  And  there,  perhaps,  Mr.  Shubrick  was  sit- 
ting at  this  moment  on  the  bank,  wishing  for  her, 
and  feeling  impatiently  that  his  free  time  was  slip- 
ping away.  Dolly's  heart  stirred  uneasily.  She 
had  been  very  shy  of  him;  she  was  yet;  but  now 
she  felt  that  he  had  a  right  to  his  answer.  Some- 
thing that  took  the  guise  of  conscience  opposed  her 
shy  reserve  and  fought  with  it.  Mr.  Shubrick  had 
a  right  to  his  answer;  and  she  was  not  treating  him 
well  to  let  him  go  without  it. 

Dolly  looked  again  at  her  father.  Eyes  closed, 
breathing  indicative  of  gentle  slumber.  She  looked 
again  over  at  the  sunlit  park.  It  was  delicious 
over  there,  among  its  sunny  and  shadowy  glades. 
Perhaps  Mr.  Shubrick  had  walked  on,  tempted  by 
the  beauty,  and  was  now  at  a  distance;  perhaps  he 
had  not  been  tempted,  and  was  still  near,  up  there 
among  the  trees,  wanting  to  see  her — 

Dolly -turned  away  from  the  window  and  with  a 
quick  step  went  down  stairs.  She  met  nobody. 
Her  straw  flat  was  on  the  hall  table;  she  took  it  up 
and  went  out;  through  the  garden,  down  to  the 
bridge,  over  the  bridge,  with  a  step  not  swift  but 
steady.  Mr.  Shubrick  had  a  right  to  his  answer, 
and  she  was  simply  doing  what  was  his  due,  and 
there  might  be  no  time  to  lose.  She  went  a  little 


660  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

more  slowly  when  she  found  herself  in  the  park ; 
and  she  trembled  a  little  as  her  eye  searched  the 
grassy  openings.  She  was  not  quite  so  confident 
here.  But  she  went  on. 

She  had  not  gone  very  far  before  she  saw  him ; 
under  the  same  oak  where  they  had  sat  togeth- 
er; lying  on  his  elbow  on  the  turf  and  reading. 
Dolly  started,  but  then  advanced  slowly,  after  that 
one  minute's  check  and  pause.  He  was  reading; 
he  did  not  see  her,  and  he  did  not  hear  her  light 
footstep  coming  up  the  bank ;  until  her  figure  threw 
a  shadow  which  reached  him.  Then  he  looked  up 
and  sprang  up ;  and  perhaps  divining  it,  met  Dolly's 
hesitation,  for  taking  her  hands  he  placed  her  on  the 
bank  beside  his  open  book ;  which  book,  Dolly  saw, 
was  his  Bible.  But  her  shyness  had  all  come  back. 
The  impression  made  by  the  thought  of  a  person, 
when  you  do  not  see  him,  is  something  quite  dif- 
ferent from  the  living  and  breathing  flesh  and 
blood  personality.  Mr.  Shubrick  on  the  other  hand 
was  in  a  widely  different  mood ;  which  Dolly  knew, 
I  suppose,  though  she  could  not  see. 

"  This  is  unlooked-for  happiness,"  said  he,  throw 
ing  himself  down  on  the  bank  beside  her.  "  What 
have  you  done  with  Mr.  Copley  ?  " 

"Nothing.  He  did  not  want  me.  He  asked  me 
what  I  had  done  with  Mr.  Shubrick  ?  I  think  you 
have  spoiled  him."  Dolly  spoke  without  looking 
at  her  companion,  be  it  understood,  and  her  breath 
came  a  little  short. 

"  And  what  are  you  going  to  do  with  Mr.  Shu- 


How  IT  WAS  SETTLED.  661 

brick?"  her  companion  said,  not  in  the  tone  of  a 
doubtful  man,  lying  there  on  the  bank  and  watch- 
ing her. 

But  Dolly  found  no  words.  She  could  not  say 
anything,  well  though  she  recognized  Mr.  Shu- 
brick's  right  to  have  his  answer.  Her  eyes  were 
absolutely  cast  down ;  the  colour  on  her  cheek  va- 
ried a  little,  yet  not  with  the  overwhelming  flushes 
of  the  other  day.  Dolly  was  struggling  with  the 
sense  of  duty,  the  necessity  for  action,  and  yet  she 
could  not  act.  She  had  come  to  the  scene  of  action, 
indeed,  and  there  her  bravery  failed  her;  and  she 
sat  with  those  delicate  lights  coming  and  going  on 
her  cheek  and  the  brown  eyes  hidden  behind  the 
sweep  of  the  lowered  eyelashes;  most  like  a  shy 
child.  Mr.  Shubrick  could  have  smiled,  but  he 
kept  back  the  smile. 

"You  know,"  he  said  in  calm  matter-of-fact 
tones,  that  met  Dolly's  sense  of  business,  "  my  ac- 
tion must  wait  upon  your  decision.  If  you  do  not 
let  me  stay,  I  must  go,  and  that  at  once.  What 
do  you  want  me  to  do  ?  " 

"I  do  not  want  you  to  go — "  Dolly  breathed 
softly. 

Silently  Mr.  Shubrick  held  out  his  hand.  As 
silently,  though  frankly,  Dolly  put  hers  into  it. 
Still  she  did  not  look  at  him.  And  he  recognized 
what  sort  of  a  creature  he  was  dealing  with,  and 
had  sense  and  delicacy  and  tact  and  manliness 
enough  not  to  startle  her  by  any  demonstration 
whatever.  He  only  held  the  little  hand,  still  and 


662  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

fast,  for  a  space,  during  which  neither  of  them 
said  anything;  then  however  he  bent  his  head 
over  the  hand  and  kissed  it. 

"  My  fingers  are  not  accustomed  to  such  treat- 
ment," said  Dolly  half  laughing,  and  trying  hard  to 
strike  into  an  ordinary  tone  of  conversation,  though 
she  left  him  the  hand.  "  I  do  not  think  they  ever 
were  kissed  before." 

"  They  have  got  to  learn  !  "  said  her  companion. 

Dolly  was  silent  again.  It  was  with  a  great  joy 
at  her  heart  that  she  felt  her  hand  so  clasped  and 
held,  and  knew  that  Mr.  Shubrick  had  got  his 
answer  and  the  thing  was  done;  but  she  did  not 
shew  it,  unless  to  a  nice  observer.  And  a  nice 
observer  was  by  her  side.  Yet  he  kept  silence 
too  for  a  while.  It  was  one  of  those  full,  blessed 
silences  that  are  the  very  reverse  of  a  blank  or  a 
void ;  when  the  heart's  big  treasure  is  too  much  to  be 
immediately  unpacked,  and  words  when  they  come 
are  quite  likely  enough  not  to  touch  it  and  to  go 
to  something  comparatively  indifferent.  However, 
words  did  not  just  that  on  the  present  occasion. 

"  Dolly,  I  am  in  a  sort  of  amazement  at  my  own 
happiness — "  Mr.  Shubrick  said. 

Dolly  could  have  answered,  so  was  she  !  but  she 
did  not.  She  only  dimpled  a  little,  and  flushed. 

"  I  have  been  waiting  for  you  all  these  years," 
he  went  on;  "and  now  I  have  got  you!" 

Dolly's  dimples  came  out  a  little  more.  "  I 
thought  you  did  not  wait,"  she  remarked. 

Mr.  Shubrick  laughed.     "  My  heart  waited,"  he 


How  IT  WAS  SETTLED.  663 

said.  "  I  made  a  boy's  mistake;  and  I  might  have 
paid  a  man's  penalty  for  it.  But  I  had  always 
known  that  you  and  no  other  would  be  my  wife, 
if  I  could  find  you.  That  is,  if  I  could  persuade 
you;  and  somehow  I  never  allowed  myself  to 
doubt  of  that.  I  did  not  take  such  a  chance  into 
consideration." 

"  But  I  was  such  a  little  child," — said  Dolly. 

"Ay,"  said  he;  "that  was  it.  You  were  such  a 
little  child." 

"  But  you  must  have  been  a  very  extraordinary 
midshipman,  it  seems  to  me." 

"  By  the  same  rule  you  must  have  been  a  very 
extraordinary  little  girl." 

They  both  laughed  at  that. 

"I  suppose  we  were  both  extraordinary,"  said 
Dolly;  "but  really,  Mr.  Shubrick,  you  know  very 
little  about  me !  " 

His  answer  to  that  was  to  kiss  again  the  hand  he 
held. 

"  What  do  you  know  of  me  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  know  a  great  deal  about  you,"  said 
Dolly  softly. 

"You  have  a  great  deal  to  learn.  Wouldn't 
you  like  to  begin  by  hearing  how  Miss  Thayer  and 
I  came  to  an  understanding?" 

"  0  yes,  yes !  if  you  please,"  said  Dolly,  extreme- 
ly glad  to  get  upon  a  more  abstract  subject  of 
conversation. 

"  I  owe  that  to  myself,  perhaps,"  Mr.  Shubrick 
went  on;  "and  I  certainly  owe  it  to  you." 


664  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  I  told  you  how  I  got  into  my  engagement  with 
her.  It  was  a  boyish  fancy;  but  all  the  same,  I 
was  bound  by  it;  and  I  should  have  been  legally 
bound  before  now,  only  that  Christina  always 
put  off  that  whenever  I  proposed  it.  I  found  too 
that  the  putting  it  off  did  not  make  me  mis- 
erable. Dolly,  the  case  is  going  to  be  different 
this  time ! " 

"You  mean — -  said  Dolly  doubtfully,  "it  is 
going  to  make  you  miserable  ?  " 

"  No !  I  mean,  you  are  not  going  to  put  me 
off." 

"  0  but ! — "  said  Dolly  flushing,  and  stopped. 

"  I  have  settled  that  point  in  my  OAvn  mind,"  he 
said  smiling;  "it  is  as  well  you  should  know  it 
at  once. — So  time  went  by,  until  I  went  to  spend 
that  Christmas  day  in  Rome.  After  that  day  I 
knew  nearly  all  that  I  know  now.  Of  course  it 
followed,  that  I  could  not  accept  the  invitation  to 
Sorrento,  when  you  were  expected  to  be  there.  I 
could  not  venture  to  see  you  again  while  I  was 
bound  in  honour  to  another  woman.  I  stayed  on 
board  ship,  those  hot  summer  days,  when  all  the 
officers  that  could  went  ashore.  I  stayed  and 
worked  at  my  problem — what  I  was  to  do.'' 

He  paused,  and  Dolly  said  nothing.  She  was 
listening  intently,  and  entirely  forgetting  that  the 
sunlight  was  coming  very  slant  and  would  soon 
be  gone,  and  that  home  and  supper  were  waiting 
for  her  managing  hand.  Dolly's  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  another  hand,  which  held  hers,  and  her,  ears 


How  IT  WAS  SETTLED.  665 

were  strained  to  catch  every  word.  She  rarely 
dared  glance  at  Mr.  Shubrick's  face. 

"  I  wonder  what  counsel  you  would  have  given 
me  ?  "  he  went  on, — "  if  I  could  have  asked  it  of 
you  as  an  indifferent  person, — which  you  were." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Dolly.  "I  know  what 
people  think — " 

"Yes,  I  knew  what  people  think,  too;  and  it  a 
little  embarrassed  my  considerations.  However, 
Dolly,  I  made  up  my  mind  at  last  to  this; — that 
to  marry  Christina  would  be  acting  a  lie;  that  I 
could  not  do  that ;  and  that  if  I  could,  a  lie  to  be 
acted  all  my  life  long  would  be  too  heavy  for  me. 
Negatively,  1  made  up  my  mind.  Positively,  I 
did  not  know  exactly  how  I  should  work  it.  But 
I  must  see  Christina.  And  as  soon  as  affairs  on 
board  ship  permitted,  I  got  a  furlough  of  a  few 
days  and  went  to  Sorrento.  I  got  there  one  lovely 
afternoon,  about  three  weeks  after  you  had  gone. 
Sea  and  sky  and  the  world  generally  were  flooded 
with  light  and  colour,  so  as  I  have  never  seen 
them  anywhere  else,  it  seems  to  me.  You  know 
how  it  is." 

"Yes,  I  know  Sorrento,"  said  Dolly.  But  just 
then,  an  English  bank  under  English  oaks  seemed 
as  good  to  the  girl  as  ever  an  Italian  paradise. 
That,  naturally,  she  did  not  shew.  "  I  know  Sor- 
rento," she  said  quietly. 

"And  you  know  the  Thayers'  villa.  I  found 
Christina  and  Mr.  St.  Leger  sitting  on  the  green 
near  the  house,  under  an  orange  tree — symbolical; 


666  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

and  the  air  was  sweet  with  a  thousand  other 
things.  I  felt  it  with  a  kind  of  oppression,  for 
the  mental  prospect  was  by  no  means  so  deli- 
cious." 

"  No,"  said  Dolly.  "  And  sometimes  that  feeling 
of  contrast  makes  one  very  keen  to  see  all  the 
lovely  things  outside  of  one." 

"  Do  you  know  that  ?  "  said  Mr.  Shubrick. 

"  Yes.     I  know  it" 

"  One  can  only  know  it  by  experience.  What 
experience  can  you  have  had,  my  Dolly,  to  let  you 
feel  it?" 

Dolly  turned  her  eyes  on  him  without  speaking. 
She  was  thinking  of  Venice  at  midnight  under  the 
moon,  and  a  sail,  and  a  wine  shop.  Tell  him? 
No  indeed,  never ! 

"You  are  not  ready  to  let  me  know?"  said  he 
piniling.  "  How  long  first  must  it  be  ?  " 

"  It  isn't  anything  you  need  know,"  said  Dolly, 
looking  away.  But  with  that  the  question  flashed 
upon  her,  would  he  not  have  to  know  ?  had  he  not 
a  right  ?  "  Please  go  on,"  she  said  hurriedly. 

"  I  can  go  on  now  easier  than  I  could  then,"  he 
said  with  a  half  laugh.  "  I  sat  down  with  them, 
and  purposely  brought  the  conversation  upon  the 
theme  of  my  trouble.  It  came  quite  naturally, 
apropos  of  a  case  of  a  broken  engagement  which 
was  much  talked  of  just  then ;  and  I  started  my 
question.  Suppose  one  or  the  other  of  the  parties 
had  discovered  that  the  engagement  was  a  mis- 
take ?  They  gave  it  dead  against  me;  all  of  them; 


How  IT  WAS  SETTLED.  667 

Mrs.  Thayer  had  come  out  by  that  time.  They 
were  unanimous  in  deciding,  that  pledges  made 
must  be  kept,  at  all  hazards." 

"  I  think  that  is  the  general  view,"  said  Dolly. 

"  It  is  not  yours  ?  " 

"  I  never  thought  much  about  it.  But  I  think 
people  ought  always  and  everywhere  to  be  true. — 
That  is  nothing  to  kiss  my  hand  for,"  Dolly  added, 
with  the  pretty  flush  which  was  coming  and  going 
eo  often  this  afternoon. 

"  You  will  let  me  judge  of  that." 

"I  didn't  think  you  were  that  sort  of  person." 

"  What  sort  of  person  ?  " 

"  One  of  those  that  kiss  hands." 

"  Shall  I  choose  something  else  to  kiss,  next 
time  ?  " 

But  Dolly  looked  so  frightened  that  Mr.  Shu- 
brick,  laughing,  went  back  to  his  story. 

"  We  were  at  Sorrento,"  he  said.  "  You  can  sup- 
pose my  state  of  mind.  I  thought  at  least  I  would 
take  disapprobation  piecemeal,  and  I  asked  Chris- 
tina to  go  out  on  the  bay  with  me.  You  have 
been  on  the  bay  of  Sorrento  about  sunsetting  ? " 

"  0  yes,  many  a  time." 

"I  did  not  enjoy  it  at  first.  I  hope  you  did. 
I  think  Christina  did.  It  was  the  fairest  evening 
imaginable;  and  my  oar,  every  stroke  I  made, 
broke  and  shivered  purple  and  golden  waters.  It 
was  sailing  over  the  rarest  possible  mosaic,  in. 
which  the  pattern  was  constantly  shifting.  I 
studied  it,  while  I  was  studying  how  to  begin 


668  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

what  I  had  to  do.  Then  after  a  while,  when  we 
were  well  out  from  shore,  I  lay  on  my  oars,  and 
asked  Miss  Thayer  whether  she  were  sure  that 
her  judgment  was  according  to  her  words,  in  the 
matter  we  had  been  discussing  at  the  house?  She 
asked  what  I  meant  ?  I  put  it  to  her  then,  whether 
she  would  choose  to  marry  a  man  who  liked  an- 
other woman  better  than  he  did  herself? 

"  Chi-istina's  eyes  opened  a  little,  and  she  said 
'Not  if  she  knew  it.' 

" '  Then  you  gave  a  wrong  verdict  up  there,'  I 
said. 

" '  But  that  was  about  what  the  man  should 
do,'  she  replied.  '  If  he  has  made  a  promise, 
he  must  fulfil  it.  Or  the  woman,  if  it  is  the 
woman.' 

" '  Would  not  that  be  doing  a  wrong  to  the 
other  party  ? ' 

'"How  a  wrong?'  said  Christina.  'It  would 
be  keeping  a  promise.  Every  honourable  person 
does  that.' 

"  '  What  if  it  be  a  promise  which  the  other  side 
no  longer  wishes  to  have  kept?' 

'"You  cannot  tell  that,'  said  Christina.  'You 
cannot  know.  Probably  the  other  side  does  wish 
it  kept.' 

"  1  reminded  her  that"  she  had  just  declared 
she,  in  the  circumstances,  would  not  wish  it;  but 
she  said,  somewhat  illogically,  'that  made  no 
difference.' 

"  I  suggested  an  application  of  the  Golden  rule." 


How  IT  WAS  SETTLED.  669 

"Yes,"  said  Dolly;  "I  think  that  rule  settles  it. 
I  should  think  no  woman  would  let  a  man  marry 
her  who,  she  knew,  liked  somebody  else  better." 

"And  no  man  in  his  senses — no  good  man,"  said 
Sandie,  "  would  have  a  woman  for  his  wife  whose 
heart  belonged  to  another  man;  or,  leaving  third 
parties  out  of  the  question,  whose  heart  did  not 
belong  to  him.  I  said  something  of  this  to  Chris- 
tina. She  answered  me  with  the  consequences  of 
scandal,  disgrace,  gossip,  which  she  said  attend 
the  breaking  off  of  an  engagement.  In  short  she 
threw  over  all  my  arguments.  I  had  to  come  to 
the  point.  I  asked  her  if  she  would  like  to  marry 
me,  if  she  knew  that  I  liked  somebody  else  better  ? 

"She  opened  her  eyes  at  me.  'Do  you,  San- 
die  ? '  she  said.  And  I  told  her,  yes. 

" '  Who  ? '  she  asked,  as  quick  as  a  flash.  And 
I  knew  then  that  her  heart  was  safe,"  Mr.  Shu- 
brick  added  with  a  smile.  "  I  told  her  frankly, 
that  ever  since  Christmas  day,  I  had  known  that 
if  I  ever  married  anybody  it  would  be  the  lady 
I  then  saw  with  her. 

"  '  Dolly ! '  she  cried.  '  But  you  don't  know  her, 
Sandie.' " 

Mr.  Shubrick  and  Dolly  both  stopped  to  laugh. 

"  I  am  sure  that  was  true.  And  I  should  think, 
unanswerable,"  said  Dolly. 

"  It  was  not  true.     Do  you  think  it  is  true  now? 

"  Well,  you  know  me  a  little  better,  but  I  should 
think,  not  much." 

"  Shews  how  little  you  can  tell  about  it.     By  the 


670  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

same  reasoning,  I  suppose  you  do  not  know  me 
much  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Dolly.  "  Yes,  I  do  !  I  know  you  a 
great  deal,  in  some  things.  If  I  didn't  — "  she 
flushed  up. 

"  We  both  know  enough  to  begin  with ;  is  that 
it?  Do  you  remember,  that  evening,  Christmas 
eve,  how  you  sat  by  the  corner  of  the  fireplace  and 
kept  quiet,  while  Miss  Thayer  talked  ?  " 

"Yes."     Dolly  remembered  it  very  well. 

"You  wore  a  black  dress,  and  no  ornaments, 
and  the  firelight  shone  on  a  cameo  ring  on  your 
hand,  and  on  your  face,  and  the  curls  of  your 
hair,  and  every  now  and  then  caught  this, — "  said 
Mr.  Shubrick,  touching  Dolly's  chain.  "Christina 
talked,  and  I  studied  you." 

"  One  evening — "  said  Dolly. 

"One  evening;  but  I  was  reading  what  was 
not  written  in  an  evening.  However,  I  left  Chris- 
tina's objection  unanswered  —  though  I  do  not 
allow  that  it  is  unanswerable;  and  waited.  She 
needed  a  little  while  to  come  to  her  breath." 

"  Poor  Christina  !  "  said  Dolly. 

"Not  at  all;  it  was  poor  Sandie,  if  anybody.  I 
do  not  think  Christina  suffered,  more  than  a  little 
natural  and  veiy  excusable  mortification.  She 
never  loved  me.  I  had  guessed  as  much  before, 
and  I  was  relieved  now  to  find  that  I  had  been 
certainly  right.  But  she  needed  a  little  while  to 
get  her  breath,  nevertheless.  She  asked  me  if  I 
was  serious?  then,  why  I  did  not  tell  her  sooner? 


How  IT  WAS  SETTLED.  671 

I  replied,  that  I  had  had  a  great  fight  to  fight  be- 
fore I  could  make  up  my  mind  to  tell  her  at  all. 

"  And  then,  as  I  judge,  she,  had  something  of  a 
fight  to  go  through.  She  turned  her  face  away 
from  me,  and  sat  silent.  I  did  not  interrupt  her; 
and  we  floated  so  a  good  while  on  the  coloured 
sea.  I  do  not  believe  she  knew  what  the  colours 
were;  but  I  did,  I  confess.  I  had  got  a  weight 
off  my  mind.  The  bay  of  Sorrento  wras  very  lovely 
to  me  that  evening.  After  a  good  while,  Christina 
turned  to  me  again,  and  I  could  see  that  she  was 
all  taut  and  right  now.  She  began  with  a  com- 
pliment to  me." 

"What  was  it?"  Dolly  asked. 

"  Said  I  was  a  brave  fellow,  I  believe." 

"  I  am  sure  I  think  that  was  true." 

"Do  you?  It  is  harder  to  be  false  than  true, 
Dolly." 

"  All  the  same,  it  takes  bravery  sometimes  to  be 
true." 

"  So  Christina  seemed  to  think.  I  believe  I  said 
nothing;  and  she  went  on,  and  added  she  thought 
I  had  done  right,  and  she  was  much  obliged  to 
me." 

"  That  was  like  Christina,"  said  Dolly. 

"'But  you  are  bold,'  she  said  again,  ' to  tell  me! 

"  I  assured  her  I  had  not  been  bold  at  all,  but 
very  cowardly. 

"  '  What  do  you  expect  people  will  say  ? ' 

"  I  told  her,  I  had  been  concerned  only  and  .solely 
with  the  question  of  how  she  herself  would  take  my 


672  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

disclosure ;  what  she  would  say,  and  how  she  would 
feel. 

"  She  was  silent  again. 

"  'But  Sandie,'  she  began  after  a  minute  or  two 
which  were  not  yet  pleasant  minutes  to  either  of 
us, — '  I  think  it  was  very  risky.  It's  all  right,  or 
it  will  be  all  right,  I  believe,  soon, — but  suppose  I 
had  been  devotedly  in  love  with  you?  Suppose 
it  had  broken  my  heart  ?  It  hasn't — but  suppose  it 
had?'" 

"  Yes,"  said  Dolly.     "You  could  not  know." 

"  I  think  I  knew,"  said  Mr.  Shubrick.  "  But  at 
any  rate,  Dolly,  I  should  have  done  just  the  same. 
'  Fais  que  dois,  advienne  que  pourra ' — is  a  grand 
old  motto,  and  always  safe.  I  could  not  marry 
one  woman  while  I  loved  another.  The  question 
of  breaking  hearts  does  not  come  in.  I  had  no 
right  to  marry  Christina,  even  to  save  her  life,  if 
that  had  been  in  danger.  But  happily  it  was  not 
in  danger.  She  did  shed  a  few  tears,  but  they  wei-e 
not  the  tears  of  a  broken  heart.  I  told  her  some- 
thing like  what  I  have  been  saying  to  you. 

"  '  But  Dolly  ! '  she  said.  '  You  do  not  know  her, 
you  do  not  even  know  her.'  That  thought  seemed 
to  weigh  on  her  mind." 

"What  could  you  say  to  it?"  said  Dolly. 

"  I  said  nothing,"  Mr.  Shubrick  answered  smil- 
ing. "Then  Christina  went  on  to  remark  that 
Miss  Copley  did  not  know  me ;  and  that  possibly 
I  had  been  brave  for  nothing.  I  still  made  no 
answer;  and  she  declared  she  saw  it  in  my  face, 


How  IT  WAS  SETTLED,  v  673 

that  I  was  determined  it  should  not  be  for  nothing. 
She  wished  me  success,  she  added ;  but  '  Dolly  had 
her  own  way  of  looking  at  things.' " 

Dolly  could  not  help  laughing. 

"  So  that  is  my  story,"  Mr.  Shubrick  concluded. 

"  And  0,  look  at  the  light,  look  at  the  light ! " 
said  Dolly  jumping  up.  "  Where  will  mother  think 
I  and  supper  are  !  " 

"  She  thinks  probably  that  you  are  in  Mr.  Cop- 
ley's room." 

"No,  she  knows  I  am  not;  for  she  is  sure  to  be 
there  herself." 

"Then  I  will  go  straight  to  them,  while  you 
bring  up  arrears  with  supper." 

"And  Christina  will  marry  Mr.  St.  Leger!"  said 
Dolly,  while  she  flushed  high  at  this  suggestion. 
"Yet  I  am  not  surprised." 

"  Is  it  a  good  match  ?  " 

"  The  world  would  say  so." 

"Jam  not,"  said  Sandie,  "according  to  the  same 
judgment.  1  am  not  rich,  Dolly.  By  and  by  I 
will  tell  you  all  I  have.  But  it  is  enough  for  us 
to  live  upon  comfortably. 

Nobody  had  ever  seen  Dolly  so  shy  and  blush- 
ing and  timid  as  she  was  now,  walking  down  the 
bank  by  Mr.  Shubrick's  side.  It  was  a  bit  of  the 
same  lovely  manifestation  which  he  had  been  en- 
joying for  a  day  or  two  with  a  little  alloy.  It  was 
without  alloy  that  he  enjoyed  it  now. 


CHAPTER   XXXV. 

WAYS  AND  MFANS. 

AS  they  entered  the  house,  Dolly  went  down 
stairs  and  Mr.  Shubrick  up;  she  trembling 
and  in  a  maze,  he  with  a  glad  free  step  and  a 
particularly  bright  face.  Mrs.  Copley  was  with  her 
husband,  as  Dolly  had  opined. 

"Here's  one  of  them,"  cried  Mr.  Copley  as  Sandie 
entered.  "  Where  have  you  been  all  this  while  ? 
If  you  think  I'll  do  to  be  left  alone  yet,  you're 
mistaken.  Where  have  you  been?" 

"  In  what  I  believe  is  the  park  of  Brierley — over 
there  under  the  oaks." 

"And  where  is  Dolly,  Mr.  Shubrick?"  Dolly's 
mother  asked. 

"  I  have  just  brought  her  home.  She  is  down 
stairs." 

"  I  sent  her  to  take  care  of  her  father — "  said 
Mrs.  Copley  in  a  dissatisfied  tone. 

"  She  informed  me  that  Mr.  Copley  did  not  want 
her,  and  preferred  me,"  said  Mr.  Shubrick. 

"  But  you  did  not  come  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Copley  sus- 
piciously. 

He  stood  looking  at  her  half  a  minute,  with  a 
slight  smile  upon  his  face,  the  frank  pleasant  smile 


WAYS  AND  MEANS.  675 

which  belonged  to  him;  then  he  turned,  took  a 
glass  from  the  table  and  came  to  Mr.  Copley's  side 
to  give  him  a  draught  which  was  due.  Next  he 
lifted  his  patient  by  the  shoulders  a  little,  to  ar- 
range the  pillows  behind  him,  and  as  he  laid  him 
back  upon  them  he  said  quietly, 

"  Will  you  give  your  daughter  to  me,  Mr.  Copley  ?  " 

Mr.  Copley  looked,  or  stared  rather,  grumly 
enough  at  the  speaker. 

"That  means,  you  have  got  her  already!" 

"Not  without  your  consent." 

"  I  thought  as  much! — Does  Dolly  want  to  marry 
you  ?  " 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  San  die  with  a  smile;  "but 
I  believe  I  may  say  that  she  will  marry  nobody 
else." 

"Ay,  there  it  is.  I  have  other  views  for  my 
daughter." 

"And  I  thought  you  were  engaged  to  Miss  Thay- 
er  ?  "  put  in  Mrs.  Copley. 

"True;  I  was;  but  that  was  a  boyish  mistake. 
We  have  all  other  views.  Miss  Thayer  is  to  marry 
your  friend,  Mr.  St.  Leger." 

"Christina!"  cried  Mrs.  Copley.  "Didn't  I  know 
Mrs.  Thayer  would  do  that,  if  she  could !  And  now 
she  has  done  it.  And  Christina  has  thrown  you 
over?" 

"Not  at  all,"  said  Sandie,  again  with  a  smile. 
"  And  you  have  not  to  blame  Mrs.  Thayer,  so  far 
as  I  know.  Miss  Thayer  and  I  are  very  good 
friends,  but  we  were  never  intended  to  marry 


676  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

each  other.  We  have  found  that  out,  and  acted 
accordingly." 

"  And  she  has  got  him  !  "  Mrs.  Copley  repeated. 
"  I  told  Dolly  she  would  like  to  do  that.  Put  their 
two  fortunes  together,  and  they  will  have  enough," 
said  poor  Mrs.  Copley.  "That  comes  of  our  going 
to  Sorrento ! " 

"  Look  here,  young  man,"  said  Mr.  Copley. 
"If  I  give  you  Dolly,  as  you  say,  after  she  has 
given  herself, — the  witch ! — what  are  you  and  she 
going  to  live  on  ?  " 

"We  have  something  to  live  on,"  said  the  young 
man  with  quiet  independence. 

"  Not  much,  I'll  be  sworn  !  " 

"Not  perhaps  what  you  would  call  much.  A 
lieutenant  in  the  navy  is  not  likely  to  have  more 
than  a  very  moderate  fortune." 

"  Fortune  !     What  do  you  call  a  fortune  ?  " 

"  Enough  to  live  on." 

"  Are  you  ever  going  to  be  a  captain  ?  " 

"I  cannot  say.  But  there  is  some  prospect 
of  it." 

"Things  might  be  worse,  then,"  grumbled  Mr. 
Copley.  "  Anyhow,  you  have  tied  my  tongue,  my 
fine  fellow.  I  can't  say  a  word  against  you.  But 
look  here ; — if  you  don't  want  a  wife  that  will  rule 
you,  I  advise  you  not  to  marry  my  Dolly.  She's 
a  witch  for  having  her  own  way.  '  My  Dolly ' !  " 
Mr.  Copley  half  groaned.  "  I  suppose  now  she's 
your  Dolly.  I  don't  want  to  give  her  to  any  man, 
that's  the  truth." 


WAYS  AND  MEANS.  677 

"And  I  thought  all  this  nursing  had  been  so 
disinterested !  "  said  Mrs.  Copley  dolefully. 

Sandie's  answer  to  this  was  conclusive,  of  the 
subject  and  the  conversation  both.  He  went  up 
to  Mrs.  Copley,  took  her  hand,  and  bent  down  and 
kissed  her.  Just  at  that  moment  they  were  called 
to  supper;  and  Mrs.  Copley,  completely  conquered, 
went  down  with  all  her  reproaches  smothered  in  the 
bud.  Yet  I  confess  her  face  shewed  a  conflict  of 
feelings  as  she  entered  the  kitchen.  It  was  cloudy 
with  disappointment,  and  at  the  same  time  her 
eyes  were  wet  with  tears  of  some  sweeter  feeling. 
Dolly,  standing  behind  the  supper  table,  looked 
from  the  one  to  the  other  as  the  two  came  in. 

"  It  is  all  settled,  Dolly,"  said  Mr.  Shubrick. 

And  I  think  he  would  have  taken  his  betrothal 
kiss,  then  and  there,  had  not  Dolly's  glance  been 
BO  shy  and  shrinking  that  she  flashed  at  him.  She 
was  standing  quietly  and  upright;  there  was  no 
awkwardness  in  her  demeanour;  it  was  the  look 
of  her  eyes  that  laid  bans  upon  Sandie.  He  re- 
strained himself;  paid  her  no  particular  attention 
during  supper;  talked  a  great  deal,  but  on  entirely 
indifferent  subjects ;  and  if  he  played  the  lover  to 
anybody,  certainly  it  was  to  Mrs.  Copley. 

"  He  is  a  good  young  man,  I  believe,"  said  Mrs. 
Copley,  making  so  much  of  -an  admission  as  she 
and  Dolly  went  up  stairs. 

"  0  mother,"  said  Dolly,  half  laughing  and  half 
vexed,  "you  say  that  just  because  he  has  been 
entertaining  you ! " 


678  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"Well,"  returned  Mrs.  Copley.  "I  like  to  be 
entertained.  Don't  you  find  him  entertaining?  " 

Mr.  Shubrick  kept  up  the  same  tactics  for  sev- 
eral days;  behaving  himself  in  the  house  very 
much  as  he  had  done  ever  since  he  had  come  to 
it.  And  out  of  the  house,  though  he  and  Dolly 
took  long  walks  and  held  long  talks  together;  he 
was  very  cool  and  undemonstrative.  He  would 
let  her  get  accustomed  to  him.  And  certainly  in 
these  conversations  he  was  entertaining.  Walk- 
ing, or  sitting  on  the  bank  under  some  old  beech 
or  oak  tree,  he  had  endless  things  to  tell  Dolly; 
things  to  which  she  listened  as  eagerly  as  ever 
Desdemona  did  to  Othello;  stories  out  of  which, 
avoid  personalities  as  he  would,  she  could  not  but 
gain,  step  by  step,  new  knowledge  of  the  story 
teller.  And  hour  by  hour  Dolly's  respect  for  him 
and  appreciation  of  him  grew.  Little  by  little  she 
found  how  thorough  his  education  was,  and  how 
fine  his  accomplishments.  Especially  as  a  draughts- 
man. Easily  and  often,  in  telling  her  of  some  place 
or  of  some  naval  engagement,  Sandie  would  illus- 
trate for  her  with  any  drawing  materials  that  came 
to  hand;  making  spirited  and  masterly  sketches 
with  a  few  strokes  of  his  hand,  it  might  be  on 
paper,  or  on  a  bit  of  bark,  or  on  the  ground  even. 

"Ah,"  said  Dolly  one  day  watching  him,  "I 
cannot  do  that!  I  can  do  something,  but  I  can- 
not do  that." 

"  What  can  you  do  ?  "  inquired  Sandie. 

"I  can  copy.     I  can  take  down  the  lines  of  a 


WAYS  AND  MEANS.  679 

face,  or  of  a  bridge,  or  a  house,  when  I  see  it  be- 
fore me ;  but  I  cannot  put  things  on  paper  out  of 
my  thoughts.  Do  you  remember  how  you  did 
this  sort  of  thing  for  me  the  very  first  time  I  saw 
you  ? — in  the  gun  deck  of  the  *  Achilles '  ?  " 

He  smiled,  finishing  the  sketch  he  was  about. 

"  I  remember.  I  remember  what  pleasure  it 
gave  me,  too.  At  that  time  I  had  a  little  sis- 
ter, just  your  age,  of  whom  I  was  exceedingly 
fond." 

"At  that  time — you  had?"  Dolly  repeated. 

"Yes,"  he  said  soberly;  "I  have  not  anybody 
now,  of  near  kin  to  me." 

Dolly's  hand  with  mute  sympathy  stole  into  his. 
It  was  the  first  action  of  approach  to  him  that  she 
had  made,  unless  that  coming  to  him  in  the  park 
three  or  four  days  before  might  be  reckoned  in  the 
bargain.  He  tossed  his  drawing  into  her  lap  and 
warmly  clasped  the  hand. 

"It  is  time  you  began  to  talk  to  me,  Dolly,"  he 
said.  "  I  have  talked  a  great  deal,  but  you  have 
said  next  to  nothing.  You  must  have  a  great 
many  questions  to  ask  me." 

"  I  don't  know — "  said  Dolly. 

"  Why  you  know  nothing  about  me,"  he  said 
with  a  laughing  look  of  his  eyes.  "  You  had  bet- 
ter begin.  You  may  ask  me  anything." 

"  But  knowing  a  person  and  knowing  about  him, 
are  very  different  things." 

"  Very.  And  if  you  have  the  one  sort  of  knowl- 
edge, it  seems  to  me  you  must  want  to  have  the 


680  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

other.  Unless,  where  both  are  alike  uninterest- 
ing; which  I  cannot  suppose  is  my  case." 

"  No,"  said  Dolly  laughing  a  little,  "  but  I  sup- 
pose you  will  tell  me  things  by  degrees,  without 
my  asking." 

"  What  makes  you  suppose  that  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  natural,  wouldn't  it  ?  " 

"  Would  it  be  natural,  without  your  shewing  any 
interest  ?  " 

"Ah,  but  now  you  are  supposing.  Perhaps  I 
should  shew  interest." 

Sandie  laughed  now  heartily. 

"  I  will  try  you,"  said  he.  "  I  will  begin  and  tell 
you  something  without  questions  asked.  Dolly,  I 
have  a  house." 

"  Have  you  ?  " 

"  You  do  not  care  to  hear  about  it  ?  " 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  have  a  house,"  said  Dolly 
demurely.  Sandie  was  lying  on  the  turfy  bank,  in 
a  convenient  position  for  looking  up  into  her  eyes; 
and  she  found  it  not  precisely  an  easy  position 
for  her. 

"  You  do  not  take  it  as  a  matter  of  personal 
concern  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  house  a  long  way  off,"  said  Dolly.  "  Just 
now  we  are  here.'' 

"  How  much  longer  do  you  expect  to  be  here  ?  " 

"  That  I  do  not  know  at  all.  Mother  and  I  have 
tried  and  tried  to  get  father  to  go  home  again, — 
and  we  cannot  move  him." 

"  I  must  try,"  said  Mr.  Shubrick. 


WAYS  AND  MEANS.  681 

"  0  if  you  could! — "  said  Dolly  clasping  her  hands 
unconsciously.  "  I  don't  know  what  I  would  give. 
He  seems  to  mind  you  more  than  anybody." 

"  What  keeps  him  here  ?     Business  ?  " 

"I  suppose  it  is  partly  business,"  said  Dolly 
slowly,  not  knowing  quite  how  to  answer.  And 
then  darted  into  her  heart  with  a  pang  of  doubt 
and  pain,  the  question:  was  not  Mr.  Shubrick 
entitled  to  know  what  kept  her  father  in  England, 
and  the  whole  miserable  truth  of  it  ?  She  had 
been  so  occupied  and  so  happy  these  last  days,  she 
had  never  fairly  faced  the  question  before.  It 
almost  caught  her  breath  away. 

"  Dolly,  when  we  all  go  back  to  America,  the 
house  I  speak  of  will  not  be  '  far  off.' " 

"  No — "  said  Dolly  faintly. 

"  Look  here,"  said  he  taking  one  of  her  hands. 
"It  is  a  house  I  hope  you  will  like.  /  like  it, 
though  it  has  no  pretension  whatever.  It  is  an 
old  house;  and  the  ground  belonging  to  it  has 
been  in  the  possession  of  my  family  for  a  hundred 
years;  the  house  itself  is  not  quite  so  old.  But 
the  trees  about  it  are.  The  old  house  stands  shut 
up  and  empty.  I  told  you,  'I  have  no  one  very 
near  of  kin  left  to  me;  so  even  when  I  am  at  home 
I  do  not  go  there.  I  have  never  lived  there  since 
my  mother  left  it." 

Dolly  was  silent. 

"  Now,  how  soon  do  you  think  I  may  have  the 
house  opened  and  put  in  order,  for  living  in  ?  " 

There  came  up  a  lovely  rose  colour  in  the  cheeks 


682  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

he  was  looking  at ;  however  Dolly  answered  with 
praiseworthy  steadiness — 

"That  is  a  matter  for  you  to  consider." 

"Is  it?" 

"  Certainly." 

"  But  you  know  it  would  be  no  use  to  open  it, 
until  somebody  is  ready  to  live  there." 

"  No,"  said  Dolly.     "  Of  course — I  suppose  not." 

"So  you  see,  after  all  I  have  to  come  to  you 
with  questions,  seeing  you  will  ask  me  none." 

"  0,"  said  Dolly,  "  I  will  ask  you  questions,  if 
you  will  let  me.  1  would  rather  ask  than  answer." 

"Very  well,"  said  he  laughing.  "I  give  place 
to  you.  Ask  what  you  like." 

Then  followed  silence.  The  young  officer  lay 
easily  on  the  bank  at  her  feet,  holding  Dolly's  hand ; 
sometimes  bringing  his  eyes  to  bear  upon  her  face, 
sometimes  letting  them  rove  elsewhere;  amused, 
but  waiting. 

"  I  shall  have  to  begin  again,"  said  he. 

"  No,  don't,"  said  Dolly.  "  Mr.  Shubrick,  where 
is  your  house  ?  " 

"About  fifty  miles  from  Boston,  in  one  of  the 
prettiest  New  England  villages  on  the  coast." 

"  And  how  much  ground  is  there  round  it  ?  " 

"About  a  hundred  acres." 

"  Doesn't  it  spoil  a  house  to  be  shut  up  so  ?  " 

"It  is  not  good  for  it.  But  there  is  nobody  be- 
longing to  me  that  I  would  like  to  see  in  it ;  and 
I  could  never  rent  the  old  place.  I  am  very  fond 
of  it,  Dolly.  It  is  full  of  associations  to  me." 


WAYS  AND  MEANS.  683 

It  swept  through  Dolly,  how  she  would  like 
to  put  it  in  order  and  keep  it  open  for  him ;  and 
again  she  was  silent,  till  admonished  by  a  laugh- 
ing "  Go  on." 

But  Dolly  did  not  know  what  further  to  say, 
and  was  still  silent. 

"There  is  one  question  you  have  not  asked  me," 
Mr.  Shubrick  said,  "  which  would  be  a  very  perti- 
nent one  just  now.  You  have  never  asked  me  how 
long  /was  going  to  stay  in  England." 

"  No,"  said  Dolly  starting.  "  How  soon  must 
you — How  long  can  you  stay  ?  " 

"My  leave  expires  in  two  weeks." 

"  Two  weeks !  And  can  you  not  get  it  extended  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  Perhaps,  for  a  little.  But  Dol- 
ly, there  is  a  prospect  of  the  'Red  Chief  being 
ordered  home;  and  there  is  a  further  possibility 
that  I  may  have  to  take  her  home;  for  Captain 
Busby  is  very  much  out  of  health  and  wants  to 
stay  the  winter  over  in  Naples." 

"You  may  have  to  take  her  home.  Will  that 
give  you  the  ship,  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"No,"  said  he  smiling;  "ships  are  not  had  at 
such  an  easy  rate  as  that.  But  Dolly,  you  perceive 
that  there  are  several  questions  we  must  ask  and 
answer;  and  the  sooner  the  better." 

"Then,"  said  Dolly  a  little  hurriedly,  she  was 
afraid  of  the  questions  that  might  be  coming, — "  if 
you  go  away  in  two  or  three  weeks,  when  shall  I 
see  you  again  ?  " 

There  was  more  of  an  admission  made  in  these 


684  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

words  than  Dolly  herself  knew;  and  it  was  made 
with  a  tender,  shy  grace  of  tone  and  manner 
which  touched  the  young  officer  with  more  than 
one  feeling.  He  bent  down  to  kiss  Dolly's  hand 
before  he  said  anything. 

"That  is  one  of  the  questions,"  he  said.  "Let 
me  tell  you  what  I  have  thought  about  it.  The 
'Red  Chief  has  been  a  long  time  out;  she  needs 
overhauling.  She  will  probably  be  sent  home  soon, 
and  I  am  like  to  be  in  charge  of  her.  I  may  expect 
to  get  a  long  furlough  when  I  go  home ;  and — I 
want  to  spend  every  minute  of  it  with  you.  I  do 
not  want  to  lose  a  day,  Dolly.  Do  you  understand  ? 
I  want  you  to  be  all  ready  for  me,  so  that  we  can 
be  married  the  very  day  I  get  to  you." 

"  You  mean,  in  America  ? "  said  Dolly,  with  a 
great  flush. 

"  I  mean,  in  America,  of  course.  I  want  to  take 
you  straight  away  from  your  old  home  to  your  new 
one.  I  will  have  the  house  put  in  readiness — ' 

"  When  do  you  think  you  will  be  there  ?  "  Dolly 
broke  in. 

"By  Christmas,  perhaps." 

"  But  I  am  here,"  said  Dolly. 

"  So  am  I  here,  just  at  present,"  said  he  smiling. 
"But  you  can  go  over  in  one  ship  while  I  am 
going  over  in  another,  and  be  there  as  soon  as  I, 
or  before." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Dolly.  "  I  can't  tell  about 
father.  I  don't  know  when  he  will  be  persuaded 
to  leave  England." 


WAYS  AND  MEANS.  685 

She  looked  doubtful  and  troubled  now.  Possible 
difficulties  and  hindrances  began  to  loom  up  be- 
fore her,  never  looked  at  until  then.  What  if  her 
father  would  not  go?  What  if  he  persisted  in 
staying  by  the  companions  who  were  his  com- 
rades in  temptation?  Could  she  go  away  and 
leave  him  to  them  ?  and  leave  her  mother  to  him  ? 
Here  offered  itself  another  sort  of  self-sacrifice,  to 
which  nothing  could  be  objected  except  its  ruinous 
effect  upon  her  own  future.  Nay,  not  her  own  fu- 
ture alone;  but  what  of  that?  "  Fais  que  dois 
advienne  que  pourra."  It  all  swept  through  Dol- 
ly's head  with  the  speed,  and  something  of  the 
gloom,  of  a  whirlwind. 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  his  movements," 
she  repeated  anxiously.  "Only,  mother  and  I  can- 
not get  him  away." 

"In  that  case  I  will  come  to  England  for  you." 

"0  no!"  said  Dolly,  shaking  her  head;  "that 
would  not  do.  I  could  not  leave  him  and  mother 
here." 

"Why  not?" 

Dolly  was  silent.    She  could  not  tell  him  why  not. 

"  Would  it  be  more  difficult  here,  than  to  leave 
them  in  America  ?  "  Mr.  Shubrick  asked,  the  smile 
upon  his  lips  checked  by  the  very  troubled  expres- 
sion of  Dolly's  face. 

"It  would  not  be  'difficult'  here;  it  would  be 


"May  I  ask,  why  more  impossible,  or  difficult, 
than  in  America  ?  " 


686  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

Dolly  was  silent.     What  could  she  say  ? 

"  Suppose  Mr.  Copley  should  prefer  to  stay  in 
England  permanently  ?  " 

"  Yes — "  said  Dolly  in  a  sort  of  whisper. 

"  What  then  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  she  answered  faintly. 

"  In  America  it  would  be  different  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Do  you  know,  my  little  Dolly,  you  are  speak- 
ing what  it  is  very  difficult  for  me  to  understand?" 

"Of  course,"  said  Dolly.  "You  cannot  under- 
stand it." 

"  Are  you  not  going  to  give  me  the  grace  of  an 
explanation  ?  " 

"  I  cannot." 

"  Then  I  shall  go  to  Mr.  Copley  for  it." 

"0  no ! "  said  Dolly  starting,  and  laying  both 
her  hands  upon  one  of  the  young  officer's,  as  if  in 
pleading  or  in  hindering.  "0  no,  Mr.  Shubrick! 
Please,  please,  do  not  speak  to  mother  or  father 
about  this !  Please  say  nothing  about  it !  " 

He  kissed  and  clasped  the  hands,  making  how- 
ever no  promise.  For  a  moment  he  paused,  seeing 
that  Dolly  was  very  deeply  disturbed. 

"Do  you  think  father  and  mother  both  could 
not  be  tempted  to  go  home  for  your  sake  ? "  he 
then  asked. 

"0  mother,  yes;  but  father — I  don't  know  about 
father." 

"  I  shall  try  my  powers  of  persuasion,"  said  Mr. 
Shubrick  lightly. 


WAYS  AND  MEANS.  687 

Dolly  made  no  answer  and  was  evidently  in  so 
much  troubled  confusion  of  thought  that  she  was 
not  ready,  even  if  he  were,  to  take  up  again  the  con- 
sideration of  plans  and  prospects,  or  to  enter  into 
any  other  more  indifferent  subject  of  conversation. 
After  a  trial  or  two,  seeing  this,  Mr.  Shubrick  pro- 
posed to  get  a  book  and  read  to  her;  which  he  had 
once  or  twice  done  to  their  great  mutual  pleasure. 
And  as  Dolly  eagerly  welcomed  the  proposal,  he 
left  her  there  on  the  bank  and  went  down  to  the 
cottage,  which  was  not  very  far  off,  to  fetch  the 
book.  As  soon  as  he  was  out  of  sight,  Dolly  laid 
her  face  in  her  hands. 

It  was  all  rushing  upon  her  now,  what  she  had 
scarce  looked  at  before  in  the  pre-occupation  and 
happiness  of  the  last  days.  It  was  a  confusion  of 
difficult  questions.  Would  her  father  leave  the 
companions  and  habits  to  which  he  had  grown  so 
fast,  and  go  back  to  America  for  her  sake  ?  that  is, 
for  the  sake  of  seeing  her  promptly  married?  Dol- 
ly doubted  it  much.  It  was  quite  possible  that  her 
father  would  regard  that  consideration  as  the  re- 
verse of  an  inducement.  It  was  quite  possible  that 
no  unselfish  inducement  would  have  any  power  at 
all  with  him.  Then  he  would  stay  in  England. 
And  so  long  as  he  was  in  England,  in  the  clutches 
of  the  temptation  that  had  got  so  much  power, 
Dolly  could  not  leave  him;  and  if  she  could  leave 
him,  it  would  be  impossible  to  forsake  her  mother, 
whose  only  stay  and  comfort  on  earth  she  was. 
In  that  case,  what  was  she  to  say  to  Mr.  Shubrick? 


688  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

How  could  he  understand,  that  for  Dolly  to  leave 
father  and  mother  was  any  way  different  or  more 
difficult  than  Christina's  or  any  other  girl's  doing 
the  same  thing  ?  He  could  not  understand,  unless 
she  told  him  all;  and  how  was  it  possible  for  her 
to  do  that  ?  How  could  she  tell  her  lover  her  fa- 
ther's shame  ?  And  if  she  simply  refused  to  marry 
him  and  refused  to  give  any  reason,  what  was  he 
to  think  then  ?  Shame  and  fear  and  longing  took 
such  possession  of  Dolly  that  she  was  thrown  into 
great  perturbation.  She  left  her  seat  on  the  bank 
and  walked  up  and  down  under  the  great  trees. 
A  good  burst  of  tears  was  near,  but  she  would  not 
give  way  to  that;  Sandie  would  see  it.  He  would 
be  back  presently.  And  he  would  be  putting  his 
question  again ;  and  whatever  in  the  world  should 
she  say  to  him  ?  For  the  hundredth  time  the  bit- 
ter apostrophe  to  her  father  rose  in  Dolly's  heart. 
How  could  he  have  let  her  be  ashamed  of  him. 
And  then  another  thought  darted  into  her  head. 
Had  not  Mr.  Shubrick  a  right  to  know  all  about 
it?  Dolly  was  almost  distracted  with  her  confu- 
sion of  difficulties. 

She  would  not  cry,  which  as  she  told  herself 
would  help  nothing.  She  stood  by  a  great  oak 
.branch,  which  leaving  the  parent  trunk  a  few  feet 
higher  up,  swept  in  lordly  fashion,  in  a  delicious 
curve,  down  towards  the  turf,  with  again  a  spring 
upward  at  its  extremity.  Dolly  stood  where  it 
came  lowest,  and  had  rested  her  two  arms  upon 
it,  looking  out  vaguely  into  the  green  wilderness 


WAYS  AND  MEANS.  689 

beyond.  She  thought  she  was  safe ;  that  was  not 
the  side  towards  the  cottage,  from  which  quarter 
Mr.  Shubrick  would  come;  she  would  hear  his 
steps  in  time  before  she  turned  round.  But  Mr. 
Shubrick  had  seen  her  standing  there,  and  inno- 
cently made  a  little  bend  from  the  straight  path 
so  as  to  come  up  on  one  side  and  catch  a  stolen 
view  of  her  sweet  face.  Coming  so,  he  saw  much 
more  than  he  expected,  and  much  more  than  Dolly 
would  have  let  him  see.  The  next  moment  he  had 
taken  the  girl  in  his  arms. 

Dolly  started  and  would  have  freed  herself,  but 
she  found  she  could  not  do  it  without  making 
more  effort  than  she  was  willing  to  use.  She 
stood  still,  fluttering,  trembling,  and  at  the  same 
time  not  a  little  abashed. 

"  What  is  troubling  you,  Dolly  ?  " 
Dolly  dared  not  look  and  could  not  speak.     Si- 
lence made  an  admission,  she  knew;  nevertheless 
she  could  find  no  words  to  say. 

"Don't  you  love  me  well  enough  to  tell  me?" 
"0  it  isn't  that,"  cried  Dolly;  "it's  because — " 
Here  Dolly's  revelations  came  to  an  end,  and  yet 
she  had  revealed  a  good  deal.     A  dark  glow  came 
into  the  young  officer's  eyes.     Truly,  she  had  be- 
fore never  told  him  so  much  as  that  she  loved 
him.     But   his  next  words  were   spoken   in   the 
same  tone  with  the  foregoing.     It  was  very  af- 
fectionate, and  withal  there  was  a  certain  accent 
of  authority  in  it.     I  think  it  awed  Dolly  a  little. 
She  had  known  really  very  little  of  authority,  as 
4A 


690  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

exercised  towards  herself.  This  was  something 
very  unlike  her  father's  careless  acquiescence,  or 
his  careless  opposition;  very  unlike  the  careless 
way  in  which  he  would  sometimes  throw  his  arm 
round  her,  affectionate  though  that  was.  The  af- 
fection here  was  different,  Dolly  felt  with  an  odd 
sort  of  astonishment ;  and  the  care,  and  the  asserted 
right  of  ownership.  It  gave  the  girl  a  thrill  of  joy ; 
at  the  same  time  it  had  upon  her  a  kind  of  sub- 
duing effect.  So  came  his  next  question,  gently 
as  it  was  put,  and  it  was  put  very  gently. 
"  Do  you  not  think  I  have  a  right  to  know  ?  " 
"Perhaps,"  she  stammered.  "01  don't  know 
but  you  ought  to  know, — but  how  can  I  tell  you  ! 

0  I  don't  know  how  I  can  tell  you ! " 

Dolly  trembled  in  her  doubt  and  distress;  she 
fought  down  tears.  Both  hands  went  up  to  cover 
her  face. 

"  Is  it  a  trouble  in  which  I  can  help  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know !  " — 

"If  I  am  to  help,  you  must  tell  me  something 
more,  Dolly." 

"  Yes,  but  I  cannot.  0  if  you  knew,  you  would 
know  that  I  cannot.  I  think  perhaps  you  ought 
to  know, — but  I  cannot  tell  you !  I  don't  see  how 

1  can  tell  you !  " 

"Then  do  not  try  to  tell  me,  until  we  are 
married,"  said  he  soothingly.  "It  will  be  easier 
then." 

"  But  I  think  you  ought  to  know  before,"  said 
Dolly,  and  he  felt  how  she  trembled  in  his  arms. 


WAYS  AND  MEANS.  691 

"  If  you  don't  know,  you  will  not  be  able  to  under- 
stand-— " 

"  What  ?  "  for  Dolly  paused. 

"  What  I  do.     You  will  not  understand  it." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do ? "  said  Mr.  Shubrick 
smiling ;  she  knew  he  was  smiling.  "  You  are  go- 
ing home  to  be  ready  to  meet  me;  and  the  day 
I  come,  we  are  going  to  be  married.  Then  you 
can  tell  me  what  you  like.  Hey  ?  " 

"  But  you  don't  know  !  "  cried  Dolly.  "  I  can't 
tell  when  we  shall  go  home.  I  don't  know  whether 
father  will  quit  England  for  all  I  can  say.  I  don't 
know  whether  he  will  ever  quit  it !  " 

"Then,  as  I  remarked  before,  I  will  have  the 
honour  to  come  to  England  and  fetch  you." 

"Ah  but  I  could  not  go  then." 

"Why  not?" 

"I  could  not  leave  them  alone  here." 

"  Why  not  here  as  well  as  in  America  ?  " 

"My  father  needs  me  here — "  said  Dolly  in  a 
low  voice,  and  with  tears,  what  sharp  tears  of  bit- 
terness !  coming  into  her  eyes. 

"  Needs  you  !  Do  not  I  need  you  ?  "  said  Mr. 
Shubrick. 

"  No,"  said  Dolly.  "  I  am  so  glad  you  don't !  " 
And  her  brown  eyes  gave  one  flash  of  undoubted, 
albeit  inexplicable,  pride  and  rejoicing  into  his 
face. 

"  How  do  you  dare  say  that,  Dolly  ?  "  he  asked 
in  growing  curiosity  and  mystification. 

"You  can  stand  alone,"  she  said,  her  voice  again 


692  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

drooping.  Mr.  Shubrick  was  silent  a  moment,  con- 
sidering what  this  might  mean.  They  had  not  al- 
tered their  relative  positions  during  this  little  dia- 
logue. Dolly's  face  was  again  covered  by  her 
hands. 

"  I  don't  know  if  I  can  stand  alone,"  said  San- 
die  at  last  slowly;  "but  I  am  not  going  to  try." 

"  Perhaps  you  must,"  said  Dolly  sadly,  lifting 
her  face  again.  "If  I  can  get  father  to  go  home, 
I  will ;  maybe  you  can  do  it  if  I  cannot.  But  I  am 
not  sure  that  anybody  can  do  it.  Mr.  Shubrick, 
he  did  not  use  to  be  like  this;  he  was  everything 
different ;  he  was  what  you  would  have  liked ;  but 
now  he  has  got  in  with  some  people  here  in  whose 
company  he — 0  how  can  I  tell  you  !  "  cried  Dolly, 
bursting  into  tears ;  but  then  she  fought  them  back 
and  struggled  for  voice  and  went  on  with  sad 
bravery. — "  I  have  told  you  so  much,  I  must  tell 
you  the  whole.  He  is  not  just  master  of  himself; 
temptation  takes  liold  of  him  and  he  cannot  resist 
it.  They  lead  him  to  play  and — betting — and  he 
loses  money,  —  and  then  comes  wine."  Dolly's 
voice  fell. — "  I  have  been  trying  and  trying  to  get 
him  back;  sometimes  I  almost  thought  I  had  done 
it;  but  the  temptation  gets  hold  of  him  again,  and 
then  everything  goes. — And  so,  I  cannot  be  sure," 
Dolly  went  on,  as  Mr.  Shubrick  remained  silent, 
"what  he  will  do  about  going  home.  Once  he 
would  have  done  it  for  me;  but  I  do  not  know 
what  he  will  do  now.  I  cannot  tell.  And  if  there 
is  a  hope  for  him,  it  is  in  me.  I  have  not  been 


WAYS  AND  MEANS.  693 

able  to  do  much,  yet;  but  if  I  cannot,  no  one  can. 
Unless  you,  perhaps;  but  you  cannot  be  with  him. 
And  you  see,  Mr.  Shubrick,  that  even  if  I  can  be 
of  no  use  to  him,  I  could  not  leave  mother  all 
alone.  I  could  not.  I  am  glad  you  know  it  all 
now;  but — " 

Dolly  could  say  nothing  more.  In  sorrow  and 
shame  and  agitation  of  spirits,  she  broke  down 
and  sobbed. 

Her  lover  was  very  still;  but  though  he  spoke 
not  a  word,  Dolly  was  feeling  all  the  while  the  new 
guardianship  she  had  come  into;  what  strong  love 
and  what  resolute  care  it  was;  feeling  it  the  more 
because  Mr.  Shubrick  was  so  quiet  about  it.  It 
was  new  to  Dolly;  it  was  very  delicious;  ah,  and 
what  if  she  were  but  learning  that  now,  to  do  with- 
out it  for  ever  after !  Her  tears  had  more  sources 
than  one ;  nevertheless,  as  soon  as  she  could  manage 
it,  Dolly  mastered  her  feelings  and  checked  down 
the  expression  of  them ;  lifted  her  head  and  wiped 
her  eyes,  as  if  she  had  done  now  with  tears  for  the 
term  of  her  natural  life.  Even  forced  a  smile,  as 
she  said, 

"Please,  Mr.  Shubrick,  let  me  go; — you  must  be 
tired  of  me." 

Which  Dolly  to  be  sure  had  no  reason  to  think, 
and  had  still  less  reason  a  minute  after;  being 
obliged  to  learn  somewhat  to  her  astonishment,  that 
there  was  also  a  difference  in  kisses  as  well  as  in 
some  other  things.  Dolly  was  exceedingly  filled 
with  confusion. 


694  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"I — didn't — give  you  leave!"  she  managed  to 
say,  abashed  as  she  was. 

"  No,"  said  Sandie  laughing.  "  And  yet  I  think 
you  did,  Dolly.  I  am  glad  to  see  your  dimples 
again!  Come  here  and  sit  down.  I  think  I  see 
the  way  out  of  our  difficulties." 

"  You  have  been  quick  in  finding  it,"  said  Dolly, 
as  he  placed  her  on  the  bank. 

"  Habit,"  said  Sandie.  "  Sailors  must  see  their 
way  and  make  their  decisions  quickly  if  at  all.  At 
least,  that  is  oftentimes  the  case.  This  is  one  of 
the  cases." 

"Can  you  depend  on  decisions  formed  so  sud- 
denly ?  " — Dolly  was  driven  by  some  unaccountable 
instinct  of  shyness  to  lead  off  from  the  subject  in 
hand,  nearly  as  it  concerned  her.  And  besides, 
she  was  too  flushed  and  abashed  to  deal  coolly 
with  any  subject. 

"  Must  depend  on  them,"  said  Sandie  laughing  a 
little  at  her  pretty  confusion.  "As  I  told  you, 
there  is  often  no  other  to  be  had.  And  a  sailor 
cannot  afford  to  change  his  course ;  he  must  see  to 
it  that  he  is  right  at  first.  Vacillation  would  be 
almost  worse  than  anything." 

"  At  that  rate,  sailors  must  get  a  very  down- 
right way  with  them." 

"  Perhaps.     Are  you  afraid  of  it  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Dolly  demurely.  "Are  you  a  good 
sailor  ?  " 

Mr.  Shubrick  laughed  out     "Do  you  doubt  it?" 

"No,  not  at  all,"  said  Dolly,  laughing  a  little 


WAYS  AND  MEANS.  695 

herself.  "Only  you  can  do  so  many  things — draw- 
ing, and  speaking  so  many  languages, — I  wanted 
to  know  if  you  were  good  at  that  too." 

"  That  is  one  of  the  necessities  of  my  position, 
Dolly.  A  man  who  cannot  sail  a  ship,  had  better 
not  try  to  command  her." 

"  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  one  thing,"  said  Dolly 
wistfully. 

"  I  will  tell  you  anything." 

"I  wish  you  would  tell  me  how  you  got  your 
promotion.  When  I  saw  you  first,  you  were  a 
midshipman  on  board  the  'Achilles.'  Christina 
told  me  you  had  distinguished  yourself  in  the 
war.  How  was  it?" 

Mr.  Shubrick  gave  her  a  glance  of  surprise  at 
first,  at  this  very  irrelevant  propounding  of  ques- 
tions; then  a  gleam  came  out  of  his  blue  eyes, 
which  were  not  in  the  least  like  Mr.  St.  Leger's 
blue  eyes;  but  he  answered  quite  gravely. 

"You  have  a  right  to  know,  if  anybody  in  the 
world  has ;  and  yet  I  cannot  tell  you,  Dolly.  I  did 
nothing,  more  than  hundreds  of  others;  nothing  but 
my  duty.  Only  it  happens,  that  if  a  man  is  always 
doing  his  duty,  now  and  then  there  comes  a  time 
that  draws  attention  to  him,  and  brings  what  he 
does  into  prominence;  and  he  gets  advancement 
perhaps;  but  it  does  not  follow  that  he  has  done 
any  more  than  hundreds  of  others  would  have  done." 

"  Are  there  so  many  men  that  are  '  always  doing 
their  duty '  ?  " 

"I  hope  so     I  believe  so.     In  naval  affairs." 


696  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"You  have  not  told  me  what  was  the  occasion 
that  brought  your  doings  into  prominence?" 

He  glanced  at  her  with  a  flash  in  his  eyes  again. 

"  Is  that  pressing  just  now?" 

"  Isn't  now  a  good  time  ?  "  said  Dolly  smiling. 

"  No,  for  my  head  is  full  of  something  else.  I 
can't  tell  you  how  I  came  to  be  promoted  first. 
After  I  was  raised  to  a  lieutenancy,  I  got  special 
credit  for  disciplining  the  crew." 

"  Disciplining  ? — "  said  Dolly. 

"  Exercising  them  in  gunnery  practice." 

"  Oh ! — I  remember  how  you  told  me  about  that 
in  the  gun  deck  of  the  'Achilles.'" 

"This  was  on  board  another  ship.  Her  guns 
were  well  served  upon  an  occasion  that  followed, 
and  honourable  mention  was  made  of  my  services 
as  having  led  to  that  result.  Now  shall  I  go  on?" 

"If  you  have  any  more  to  tell." 

"  I  am  going  no  further  on  that  tack.  You  must 
come  about." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Dolly  quaintly,  "  I  must  if  you 
must." 

"  We  were  getting  too  far  to  leeward.  We  must 
come  up  into  the  wind  a  little  more,  Dolly,  and 
face  our  difiiculties.  I  think  I  have  found  the 
way  out  of  them.  As  I  understand  you,  it  is  quite 
a  matter  of  uncertainty  when,  or  if  ever,  Mr.  Cop- 
ley can  be  induced  to  leave  England." 

"  Quite  uncertain.  Even  if  he  promised  to-day 
that  he  would  go  next  week,  I  could  not  be  sure  but 
he  would  change  his  mind  before  the  day  came." 


WAYS  AND  MEANS.  697 

"  And  so  long  as  he  and  your  mother  are  here, 
they  need  you.  Do  you  see,  Dolly,  what  prospect 
that  opens  to  us  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  The  only  thing  to  do,  is  to  give  me  a  right  to 
speak  in  the  matter." 

"You  have  a  right  to  speak,"  said  Dolly.    "Only — " 

"  I  have  no  right  to  speak  with  authority.  You 
must  give  me  the  authority." 

"  How  ?  "  said  Dolly  shyly. 

"  There  is  but  one  way.  Don't  you  see,  if  I  have 
the  right  to  say  where  you  shall  be,  the  rest  all 
follows  ?  " 

"  How  can  you — "  said  Dolly. 

He  took  her  hand  gently.  "You  must  marry 
me  before  I  go,"  said  he.  "It  is  the  only  way, 
Dolly.  Don't  be  startled;  you  shall  have  all  the 
time  you  want  to  get  accustomed  to  the  thought. 
I  am  not  going  to  hurry  you.  The  only  difference 
is,  that  instead  of  being  married  the  day  I  get  to 
you  in  America,  we  will  have  the  ceremony  per- 
formed here,  the  day  I  leave  you.  Not  till  then, 
Dolly.  But  then,  of  course,  you  must  go  to  Amer- 
ica to  meet  me;  and  if  I  know  anything  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Copley,  where  you  must  be,  they  will  choose 
to  be  also.  I  think  I  can  get  another  week  or  two 
of  leave,  so  that  it  will  not  seem  so  very  sudden." 

Dolly  had  flushed  and  paled  a  little.  She  sat 
looking  on  the  ground  in  silence.  Mr.  Shubrick 
let  her  have  a  while  to  herself,  and  then  asked  her 
what  she  thought  of  his  plan  ? 


698  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Dolly  faintly.  "  I  mean," 
she  added, — "perhaps  it  is  the  best  way.  I  don't 
know  but  it  is  the  only  way.  I  don't  believe 
mother  will  like  it." 

"  We  will  talk  her  over,"  said  the  young  officer 
joyfully.  "  You  said  slue,  wishes  to  go  home  ?  " 

"  0  yes.  And  I  think  she  will  come  over  to  our 
side,  when  she  knows  the  reasons." 

Sandie  bent  down  and  reverently  kissed  the 
hand  he  held. 

"Then — "  said  Dolly,  on  whose  cheek  the  flushes 
were  coming  and  going, — but  she  did  not  finish 
her  sentence. 

"  Then,  what  ?  " 

"  I  was  thinking  to  ask,  how  soon  or  when  you 
expect  your  ship  to  go  home  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  certainly.  Probably  I  shall  be 
ordered  home  before  Christmas;  but  it  may  not 
be  till  January." 

Dolly  was  silent  again. 

"  If  our  plan  is  carried  out,  you  will  go  sooner, 
will  you  not  ?  " 

"  0  immediately.     As  soon  as  possible." 

"  In  that  case  you  will  be  there  before  I  shall. 
I  told  you,  I  have  nobody  very  nearly  belonging 
to  me;  but  there  is  a  cousin — a  sort  of  cousin — 
living  in  the  place;  Mrs.  Armitage;  I  will  send 
her  word  to  open  the  house  and  get  it  in  some 
sort  of  order  for  us." 

Both  were  silent  again  for  a  space,  and  I  think 
not  only  one  was  happy.  For  Dolly  knew  the 


WAYS  AND  MEANS.  699 

plan  would  work.  But  she  was  struggling  besides 
with  a  thought  which  she  wanted,  and  did  not 
want,  to  speak.  It  must  come  out!  or  Dolly 
would  not  have  been  Dolly. 

"  Mr.  Shubriok — "  she  began. 

••What?"  said  he  eagerly;  for  Dolly's  tone 
shewed  that  there  was  a  good  deal  behind  it 

••  Would  you — I  was  thinking — "* 

-  About  what  ?  " 

"The  house.  Would  you — trust  »»*>?  I  mean, 
of  course,  if  we  are  there  before  you  ?  " 

A  flood  of  colour  rushed  over  Dolly's  face. 

"  Trust  you  ?  "  he  said  with  a  bright  light  in  his 
eyes.  "What  am  I  going  to  do  all  my  life?  Trust 
you  to  put  your  own  house  in  order?  I  cannot 
think  of  anything  I  should  like  quite  so  well. 
What  a  delightful  thought,  Dolly  ! " 

"  I  should  like  it,"  said  Dolly  shyly. 

"  Then,  instead  of  writing  to  Mrs,  Armitage  to 
open  the  house,  I" will  send  her  an  order  to  deliver 
the  key  to  Mrs.  Shubriok." 

He  liked  to  watch  how  the  colour  flitted  on  her 
face,  and  the  lines  of  brow  and  lip  varied ;  how  she 
fluttered  like  a  caught  bird,  and  yet  a  bird  that 
did  not  want  to  fly  away.  Dolly  was  frank 
enough;  there  was  nothing  affected,  or  often  even 
conscious,  about  this  shy  play;  it  was  the  purest 
nature,  in  sweetest  manifestation.  Shyness  was 
something  Dolly  had  never  been  guilty  of,  with 
anybody  but  Mr.  Shubriok;  it  was  an  involuntary 
tribute  she  constantly  paid  to  him. 


CHAPTER   XXXVI. 

THIS  PICTURE  AND  THAT. 

THE  plan  worked,  as  Dolly  had  known  from  the 
first,  that  it  would.  Mrs.  Copley  came  into 
it,  and  then  Mr.  Copley  could  not  resist.  It  only 
grieved  Mrs.  Copley's  heart  that  there  should  be, 
as  she  said,  no  wedding.  "  Might  as  well  be  mar- 
ried in  a  barn !  "  she  said. 

The  barn-like  effect  was  a  little  taken  off  by 
Lord  and  Lady  Brierley's  presence  at  the  cere- 
mony, which  to  be  sure  was  performed  in  no  barn 
but  the  pretty  village  church;  and  by  the  break- 
fast given  to  Dolly  thereafter  at  the  great  house. 
This  was  not  what  Dolly  or  Mr.  Shubrick  had  de- 
sired. It  came  about  on  this  wise. 

Dolly  went  to  pay  a  farewell  visit  of  thanks  to 
Lady  Brierley  and  to  her  good  friend  the  house- 
keeper. Sandie  accompanied  her.  Now  Mr.  Shu- 
brick  was  one  of  those  persons  who  make  their 
way  in  all  companies.  Lady  Brierley,  talking  to 
Dolly,  eyed  the  while  the  figure  of  the  young 
officer,  his  face,  and  his  fine,  quiet,  frank  manners; 
watched  him  talking  with  her  husband,  who  hap- 
pened to  come  in ;  and  also  caught  with  her  prac- 


THIS  PICTURE  AND  THAT.  701 

tised  eye  a  glance  or  two  of  Dolly's.  Dolly,  be  it 
remarked,  was  not  shy  here,  before  her  noble 
friends;  she  neither  flushed  nor  trembled  nor 
was  nervous.  But  Lady  Brierley  saw  how  things 
were. 

"So,"  said  her  ladyship  at  last,  when  Dolly 
was  about  taking  leave, — "you  have  not  told 
me,  but  I  know  it, — you  are  going  home  to  get 
married ! " 

"That  would  seem  to  be  the  natural  order  of 
things,"  said  Sandie,  as  Dolly  was  not  immediately 
ready  with  her  answer ;  "  but  we  are  going  to  re- 
verse the  terms.  We  are  purposing  to  be  married 
first,  and  then  go  home." 

The  lady  looked  at  him  with  a  curious  mixture 
of  expressions;  it  was  too  early  in  the  century  then 
for  an  officer  of  the  American  navy  to  be  altogether 
a  pleasant  sight  to  the  eyes  of  an  Englishwoman ;  at 
the  same  time  she  could  not  wholly  withhold  her 
liking  from  this  young  officer's  fine  looks  and  man- 
ly beai'ing.  She  turned  to  Dolly  again. 

"  I  hope  you  are  going  to  ask  me  to  your  wed- 
ding," she  said.  "When  is  it  to  be,  Dolly?" 

"My  mother  thinks  it  does  not  deserve  to  be 
called  a  wedding,"  said  Dolly  dimpling  and  grow- 
ing rosy.  "  I  should  not  have  ventured  to  ask 
your  ladyship.  But  if  you  are  so  kind — It  is  to 
be  on  the  morning  of  the  10th — very  early  in  the 
morning,  for  Mr.  Shubrick  has  to  set  off  that  day 
to  rejoin  his  ship." 

"I'll   get  up   by  daybreak,"   said  her  ladyship 


702  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

arching  her  brows,  "  if  it  is  necessary.  And 
you  will  come  here  from  the  church  and  have 
breakfast  with  me,  will  you?  It  would  be  a  great 
pleasure  to  me." 

So  it  had  been  arranged;  and  as  I  said,  Mrs. 
Copley  had  been  a  good  deal  comforted  by  the 
means.  Lady  Brierley's  breakfast  was  beautiful; 
she  had  caused  her  rooms  to  be  dressed  with  flow- 
ers in  Dolly's  honour;  the  company  was  small,  but 
the  more  harmonious;  and  the  presents  given  to 
Dolly  were  very  handsome. 

And  now  there  is  nothing  more  to  do,  but  to 
give  two  pictures;  and  even  for  them  there  is 
hardly  room. 

The  scene  of  the  first,  is  a  house  in  Harley  Street, 
London.  It  is  an  excellent  house,  and  just  new 
furnished  and  put  in  cap-a-pie  order  from  top  to 
bottom.  In  the  drawing  room  a  group  of  peo- 
ple taking  a  general  survey.  One  of  them  a 
very  handsome  young  man,  in  unexceptionable 
style,  waiting  upon  two  ladies;  a  beauty,  and  the 
beauty's  mother.  Things  in  the  house  meet  ap- 
proval. 

"  I  think  it  is  perfect,"  said  Mrs.  Thayer.  "Just 
perfect.  The  man  has  done  his  work  very  well." 
She  was  referring  to  the  upholsterer,  and  at  the 
moment  looking  at  the  window  curtains. 

"  Isn't  that  a  lovely  tint  of  French  grey  ?  "  said 
Christina,  "  and  the  blue  fringe  is  the  right  thing 
for  it.  I  think  the  folds  are  a  little  too  full— but 
it  is  a  goo(J  fault.  It  is  all  right,  I  believe.  I  do 


THIS  PICTURE  AND  THAT.  703 

like  a  drawing  room  with  no  fault  in  it,  no  eye- 
sore." 

"There  could  hardly  be  any  fault  in  the  work 
of  Hans  and  Piccalilly,"  remarked  St.  Leger. 

"O  I  don't  know,  Lawrence,"  said  the  young 
lady.  "Didn't  they  do  the  Fortescues'  house?  and 
the  drawing  room  is  in  white  and  gold ;  very  pretty 
in  itself,  but  just  think  how  it  will  set  off  all  those 
florid  people.  A  bunch  of  peonies  on  a  white 
ground ! " 

Lawrence  laughed.  "  You  can  bear  anything," 
he  said.  "  But  blue  suits  you." 

"It's  just  perfect,"  Mrs.  Thayer  repeated.  "I  see 
nothing  to  find  fault  with.  Yes,  Christina  can 
bear  anything  and  wear  anything.  It  saves  a 
great  deal  of  trouble.  When  I  was  a  girl  I  had 
a  different  complexion.  I  wasn't  a  peony,  but  I 
was  a  rose — not  a  white  rose ;  and  anything  shad- 
ing on  red  I  could  not  wear ;  not  purple,  nor  claret, 
nor  even  ashes  of  roses.  It  was  a  regular  perplex- 
ity, to  get  variety  enough  with  the  small  number 
of  shades  at  my  disposal;  for  orange  did  not  be- 
come me,  either.  Well,  I  can  wear  anything  now, 
too,"  she  added  with  a  half  laugh.  "And  it  is 
nothing  to  anybody." 

"  Mamma,  you  know  better  than  that,"  said 
Christina. 

"  Now,"  said  Lawrence,  "  the  question  is,  when 
shall  we  take  possession  ?  The  house  is  all  ready 
for  us." 

"  There  is  no  use  in  taking  possession  till  we  are 


704  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

ready  to  keep  it;  and  it  would  be  dull  to  stay  in 
town  all  winter,  wouldn't  it?"  said  Christina. 
"  What  ever  should  we  do  ?  " 

"  Very  dull,"  said  Mrs.  Thayer.  "  It  is  a  long 
while  yet  before  the  season  begins.  Better  be 
anywhere  else." 

"  I  was  thinking  of  Brighton,"  said  Christina. 
"  I  think  I  should  like  that." 

"  After  the  Peacocks,"  said  Lawrence.  "  We  are 
due  there,  you  know,  for  a  visit." 

"0  after  the  Peacocks,  of  course.  But  then, — 
do  you  think,  Lawrence,  we  could  do  anything 
better  than  go  to  Brighton  ?  Till  the  season 
opens  ? " 

Brighton  quite  met  Mr.  St.  Leger's  views  of  what 
was  desirable. 

It  was  a  month  or  two  later,  as  it  happened,  that 
another  house  was  undergoing  inspection,  a  house 
at  a  very  great  distance  from  Harley  Street,  geo- 
graphically and  otherwise ;  but  let  the  reader  judge. 
This  was  a  country  house  in  a  fair  New  England 
village;  where  there  was  land  enough  for  every- 
body, and  everybody  had  land,  and  in  .consequence 
the^  habitations  of  men  were  individually,  as  the 
habitations  of  men  should  be,  surrounded  with 
grass  and  trees  and  fields;  the  very  external  ar- 
rangements of  the  place  giving  thereby  a  type  of 
the  free  and  independent  life  and  wide  space  for 
mental  and  characteristic  development  enjoyed  by 
the  inhabitants.  The  particular  house  in  question 
was  not  outwardly  remarkable  above  many  others ; 


THIS  PICTURE  AND  THAT.  705 

it  stood  in  a  fair  level  piece  of  ground,  shaded  and 
surrounded  with  beautiful  old  American  elms.  The 
inspectors  of  the  same  were  two  ladies. 

Dolly  had  come  to  the  village  a  week  or  two  be- 
fore. Mr.  Copley  was  not  just  then  in  condition  to 
be  left  alone;  so  as  her  mother  could  not  be  with 
her,  she  had  summoned  her  dear  Aunt  Hal,  from 
Philadelphia;  and  Mr.  Eberstein  would  not  be  left 
behind.  All  three  they  had  come  to  this  place, 
found  quarters  at  the  inn,  and  since  then  Dolly 
and  Mrs.  Eberstein  had  been  very  busy  getting 
the  house  cleaned  and  put  in  order.  The  outside, 
as  I  said,  gave  promise  of  nothing  remarkable; 
Dolly  had  been  the  more  surprised  and  pleased  to 
find  the  interior  extremely  pleasant  and  not  com- 
monplace. Eooms  were  large  and  airy;  pictur- 
esquely arranged ;  and  furnished,  at  least  in  part, 
in  a  style  for  which  she  had  not  been  at  all  pre- 
pared. The  house  had  been  for  a  long  stretch  of 
years  in  the  possession  of  a  family,  not  wealthy, 
but  well  to  do,  and  cultivated;  and  furthermore, 
several  of  the  members  of  it  at  different  times  had 
been  seafaring;  and  as  happens  in  such  cases, 
there  had  been  brought  home  from  foreign  parts 
a  small  multitude  of  objects  of  art  or  convenience 
which  bore  witness  to  distant  industries  and  fash- 
ions. India  mats  of  fine  quality  were  on  some  of 
the  floors;  India  hangings  at  some  of  the  windows; 
beautiful  china  was  found  to  be  in  quantity,  both 
of  useful  and  ornamental  kinds.  Little  lacquered 
tables;  others  of  curious  inlaid  work;  bamboo 
45 


706  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

chairs;  Chinese  screens  and  fans;  and  I  know  not 
what  all  besides.  Dolly  and  Mrs.  Eberstein  re- 
viewed these  articles  with  great  interest  and  ad- 
miration; they  gave  the  house,  simple  as  it  was, 
an  air  of  elegance  which  its  exterior  quite  forbade 
one  to  look  for.  At  the  same  time,  some  other 
necessary  things  were  wanting,  or  worn.  The 
carpet  in  what  Dolly  called  the  drawing  room  was 
one  of  these  instances.  .  It  was  very  much  the 
worse  for  wear.  Dolly  and  her  aunt  went  care- 
fully over  everything;  adjusting,  supplying,  ar- 
ranging, here  and  there ;  Dolly  getting  a  number 
of  small  presents  by  the  way,  and  a  few  that  were 
not  small.  At  last  Mr.  Eberstein  sent  in  a  fine 
carpet  for  the  drawing  room ;  and  Dolly  would  not 
have  it  put  down. 

"Not  till  Mr.  Shubrick  comes,"  she  said. 

"Why  not,  my  dear?  this  is  threadbare,"  her 
aunt  pleaded. 

"Aunt  Hal,  I  should  not  like  to  give  the  room  a 
strange  look.  He  may  have  associations  with  this 
old  carpet,  for  anything  I  know." 

"  Men  do  not  have  '  associations '  with  things," 
said  Mrs.  Eberstein. 

"  Some  men  do,  and  perhaps  he  is  one  of  them. 
At  any  rate,  I  want  the  house  to  look  like  home  to 
him  when  he  comes.  I'll  put  down  the  carpet  after- 
wards, if  he  likes  it." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  going  to  spoil  him,  Dolly," 
said  Mrs.  Eberstein  shaking  her  head.  "I  hope  he 
is  worthy  of  it  all.  But  don't  spoil  him ! " 


THIS  PICTURE  AND  THAT.  707 

"He  is  much  more  likely  to  spoil  me,  Aunt  Hal." 

"Spoil  you!"  exclaimed  her  aunt  indignantly. 
"  What  do  you  know  about  it  ?  0  Dolly,  Dolly  ! 
I  hope  you  have  got  the  right  man  ! " 

At  which,  however,  Dolly  shewed  all  her  dimples, 
and  laughed  so  comically  that  Mrs.  Eberstein,  right 
or  wrong,  was  obliged  to  laugh  with  her. 

Mr.  Copley  had  once  said  a  true  thing  about  his 
daughter;  that  if  she  married  Mr.  St.  Leger  she 
would  be  devoted  to  him.  " If" — yes,  so  she  Avould. 
And  being  now  married  to  somebody  else,  Dolly 
Avas  a  very  incarnation  of  loyalty  to  her  husband. 
Alas,  many  another  woman  has  trusted  so,  on  less 
grounds,  and  made  shipwreck ;  but  Dolly's  faith  was 
well  founded,  and  there  was  no  shipwreck  in  store 
for  her. 

So  the  day  came  when  all  was  in  readiness  and 
the  two  ladies  took  a  satisfied  review  of  their  work. 
It  was  the  day  when  Mr.  Shubrick  was  looked  for 
home.  The  "Red  Chief"  had  arrived  in  port;  and 
Sandie  had  written  that  by  the  evening  of  this  day 
he  hoped  to  be  at  home.  Everything  was  in  order ; 
fires  were  lighted;  a  servant  installed  below  stairs; 
supper  prepared ;  nothing  left  to  be  done  anywhere. 
Dolly  had  seen  to  the  supper  carefully  herself;  in- 
deed for  a  day  or  two  there  had  been  some  very 
thoughtful  cooking  and  baking  going  on ;  which  Mrs. 
Eberstein  had  watched  with  great  interest,  some 
amusement,  and  ever  so  little  a  bit  of  jealousy. 

"Is  Mr.  Shubrick  a  difficult  man  to  please?"  she 
demanded. 


708  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"How  can  I  tell?"  said  Dolly.  "I  have  only 
seen  him  in  our  house,  not  in  his  own.  He  did  not 
scold  there;  but  how  do  I  know  what  he  may  do 
here?" 

"Scold!"  repeated  Mrs.  Eberstein.  "Dolly,  I 
believe  it  would  rouse  all  the  wickedness  there  is 
in  me,  if  anybody  should  scold  you  !  " 

Dolly  flushed  rosily,  and  then  she  fairly  laughed 
out. 

"  I  will  tell  you  a  secret,  Aunt  Hal,"  she  said. 
"  I  don't  mean  that  in  this  matter  at  least  he  shall 
find  any  occasion." 

So  the  supper  was  ready,  and  the  table  was  set, 
and  fires  were  bright.  Mrs.  Eberstein  staid  with 
Dolly  till  the  evening  began  to  fall,  and  then  went 
back  to  the  inn;  averring  that  she  would  not  for 
the  universe  be  found  in  Mr.  Shubrick's  house 
when  he  came.  Dolly  stood  at  the  window  and 
watched  her  aunt's  dark  figure  moving  down  to 
the  gate,  and  then  still  stood  at  the  window  watch- 
ing. It  was  all  snow}*-  stillness  outside. 

There  was  a  faint  moonlight,  which  glistened  on 
the  white  ground  and  bare  elm  branches.  A  few 
inches  of  snow  had  fallen  the  day  before ;  the  sun 
had  thawed  the  surface  slightly  and  then  it  had 
frozen  in  a  glittering  smooth  crust.  It  was  still 
outside  as  only  leafless  winter  can  be,  when  there 
are  no  wings  to  flutter,  or  streams  to  trickle,  or 
chirrup  of  insects  to  break  the  calm.  Not  a  foot- 
fall, not  a  sleigh  bell;  not  another  light  in  sight, 
but  only  the  moon.  Anybody  in  the  road  might 


THIS  PICTURE  AND  THAT.  709 

have  seen  another  light,  that  which  came  from 
Dolly's  windows.  She  had  been  hard  to  suit  about 
her  arrangements ;  she  would  not  have  candles  lit, 
for  she  did  not  wish  an  illumination  that  might 
make  the  interior  visible  to  a  chance  passer-by; 
and  yet  she  would  not  have  the  shutters  shut,  for 
the  master  of  the  house  coming  home  must  read 
his  welcome  from  afar  in  rays  of  greeting  from  the 
windows.  So  she  made  up  the  fires  and  left  the  cur- 
tains open;  and  ruddy  firelight  streamed  out  upon 
the  snow.  It  was  bright  enough  to  have  revealed 
Dolly  herself,  only  that  the  house  stood  back  some 
distance  from  the  road.  Dolly  watched  and  listened 
a  while ;  then  crossed  the  hall  to  the  room  on  the 
other  side,  from  the  windows  of  which  a  like  glow 
shone  out.  The  fire  was  in  order;  the  table  stood 
ready.  Dolly  went  back  again.  It  was  so  still  out- 
side, as  if  Sandie  never  would  come.  She  listened 
with  her  heart  beating  hard  and  fast. 

For  an  hour  and  a  half,  perhaps ;  and  then  she 
heard  the  tinkle  of  sleigh  bells.  They  might  be 
somebody  else's.  But  they  came  nearer,  and  very 
near,  and  stopped ;  only  Dolly  heard  a  mixed  jangle 
of  the  bells,  as  if  the  horse  had  thrown  his  head  up 
and  given  a  confused  shake  to  them  all.  The  next 
thing  was  the  gate  falling  to,  and  a  step  crunching 
the  crisp  snow.  Then  the  house  door  opened  with 
no  preliminary  knock ;  and  somebody  was  throw- 
ing off  wraps  in  the  hall. 

Dolly  had  made  a  step  or  two  forward,  and 
stopped;  and  when  Sandie  appeared  on  the  thresh- 


710  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

old,  she  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
as  pretty  a  picture  of  shy  joy  as  a  man  need  wish 
to  see  in  his  heart  or  his  house.  If  Mrs.  Eberstein 
could  have  been  there  and  watched  his  greeting  of 
her,  the  lady's  doubts  respecting  his  being  "the 
right  man  "  would  perhaps  have  been  solved. 

But  after  the  first  hasty  word  or  two,  it  was  very 
silent. 

"  Dolly  "—Mr.  Shubrick  said  at  last.  And  there 
he  stopped;  nothing  followed. 

"What  were  you  going  to  say?"  Dolly  whis- 
pered. 

"  So  much,  that  I  do  not  know  how  to  begin.  I 
cannot  get  hold  of  the  end  of  anything.  Are  you 
not  going  to  let  me  see  your  eyes  ?  I  do  not  know 
where  I  am,  till  I  get  a  look  into  them." 

He  smiled  a  moment  after;  for  although  shyly 
and  fleetingly,  the  brown  eyes  were  lifted  for  a  brief 
glance  to  his.  What  a  sweet,  tender  simpleness 
was  in  them,  and  yet  what  a  womanly,  thoughtful 
brow  was  above  them ;  and,  yes,  Sandie  read  some- 
what else  that  a  man  likes  to  read;  a  fealty  of  love 
to  him  that  would  never  fail.  It  went  to  his  heart. 
But  he  saw  too  that  Dolly's  colour  had  left  her 
cheeks,  though  at  first  they  were  rosy  enough; 
and  in  the  lines  of  her  face  generally  and  the 
quiver  of  her  lip  he  could  see  that  the  nervous 
tension  was  somewhat  too  much.  He  must  lead 
off  to  commoner  subjects. 

"  Who  is  here  with  you  '?  " 

"  Nobody." 


THIS  PICTURE  AND  THAT.  711 

"You  do  not  mean  that  you  are  alone  here, 
Dolly  ?  " 

"No.  0  no.  I  mean,  nobody  in  the  house. 
Aunt  Harry  and  Uncle  Ned  are  at  Baxter's.  Aunt 
Harry  only  left  me  an  hour  or  two  ago,  when  it 
was  time  to  expect  you." 

"It  was  very  kind  of  her  to  leave  you!"  said 
Sandie  frankly. 

"  We  have  been  here  a  fortnight.  When  I  found 
I  could  not  have  mother,  I  wrote  to  Aunt  Hal;  and 
she  came." 

"  What  was  the  matter  with  your  mother?  " 

Dolly  half  unwound  herself  from  the  arms  that 
held  her  and  turned  her  face  away.  She  was  try- 
ing to  choke  something  down  that  threatened  to 
stop  her  speech. 

"  Father—" 

"What  of  him?"  said  Sandie  with  a  grave 
change  of  tone. 

"  I  am  not  sorry,"  said  Dolly.  "  But  0  !  to  think 
that  I  should  not  be  sorry !  " — She  covered  her  face. 

Sandie  was  silent,  waiting  and  wondering.  It 
could  not  be  Mr.  Copley's  death  that  was  in  ques- 
tion; but  what  then  could  it  be.  He  waited,  to 
let  Dolly  take  her  own  time.  Neither  did  he  have 
to  wait  long. 

"  You  remember,"  she  began,  still  with  her  face 
turned  away, — "you  remember  what  I  told  you 
one  day  in  Brierley  Park — about  father  ?  " 

"  Certainly  I  remember." 

"  You  understood  me  ?  " 


712    •  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"Yes,  I  think  so." 

"Then  you  knew  that  I  was — very  anxious — " 
Dolly  caught  her  breath,  "about  what  might 
come  ?  0  it  is  not  treason  for  me  to  talk  to  you 
about  it — now !  "  cried  Dolly. 

"  It  is  not  treason  for  you  to  tell  me  anything," 
said  Mr.  Shubrick,  drawing  her  again  closer, 
though  Dolly  kept  her  face  bent  down  out  of 
his  sight.  "Treason  and  you  have  nothing  in 
common.  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  I  told  you,  I  knew  there  was  no  safety,"  she 
said,  making  a  quick  motion  of  her  hand  over  her 
eyes.  "  I  hoped  things  would  be  better  over  here, 
away  from  those  people  that  led  him  the  wrong 
way;  and  they  were  better;  it  was  like  old  times; 
still  I  knew  there  was  no  safety.  And  now — he 
is  taken  care  of,"  she  said  with  a  tremble  of  her 
lip  which  spoke  of  strong  pain,  strongly  kept 
down.  "  He  went  to  see  some  new  fine  machin- 
ery in  somebody's  mill.  Somehow,  by  some  care- 
lessness, his  coat  got  caught  in  the  machinery; 
and  before  the  works  could  be  stopped  his  leg  was 
— fearfully  broken."  Dolly  spoke  with  difficulty 
and  making  great  effort  to  master  her  agitation. 
The  arms  that  held  her  felt  how  she  was  quivering 
all  over. 

"  When,  Dolly  ?     When  did  this  happen  ?  " 

"  Soon  after  we  came  home.  It  is  six  weeks  ago 
now." 

"  How  is  your  father  now  ?  " 

"  Doing  very  well ;  getting  cured  slowly.     But  he 


THIS  PICTURE  AND  THAT.  713 

will  never  walk  again  without — support.  0  do 
you  see  how  I  am  so  sorry  and  glad  together? 
Isn't  it  dreadful,  that  I  should  be  glad  ?  " 

She  looked  up  now,  for  she  would  not  dis- 
tress Mr.  Shubrick  by  giving  way  to  the  tears 
which  would  have  been  a  relief  to  herself.  She 
looked  up  with  such  a  face !  the  eyes  shining 
through  tears,  the  mouth  trembling  with  a  smile ; 
sunshine  and  rain  all  in  one  glitter.  "And  that 
is  the  way  he  has  been  taken  care  of! "  she 
said. 

Mr.  Shubrick  stooped  his  face  gently  to  hers 
with  a  mute  caressing  motion,  leaving  her  time  to 
get  rid  of  those  encumbering  tears  or  to  shed  more 
of  them;  waiting  til:  the  tremor  subsided  a  little. 
Soon  Dolly  spoke  again. 

"  It  has  been  such  a  weight  on  me — 0  such  a 
weight!  I  could  hardly  bear  it  sometimes.  And 
now — this  is  better." 

"Yes,"  he  said. 

"  You  had  to  know  of  it.     I  was  very  sorry ! " 

"  Sorry  that  I  should  know  ?  " 

"  0  yes,  yes !  Sorry  and  ashamed.  Sorry  for 
you  too." — Dolly's  trembling  was  excessive. 

"  Hush !  "  said  Sandie  softly.  "  What  is  yours 
is  mine ;  sorrow  and  joy  together.  I  think  I  had 
better  go  and  take  up  my  old  office  of  nurse 
again." 

"  O,"  said  Dolly  starting  and  a  glad  tone  coming 
into  her  voice, — "would  you  ?  How  he  would  like 
that ! " 


714  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

"  It  must  have  been  a  little  hard  for  them  both 
to  have  you  come  away  just  now.  I  think  we  will 
go  and  comfort  them  up,  Dolly." 

"  You  are  very,  very  good !  "  said  Dolly  with  her 
eyes  glistening,  and  speaking  from  hearty  con- 
viction. 

"  Whom  are  you  talking  to  ?  I  have  not  heard 
my  name  yet." 

"I  have  not  got  accustomed  to  you  yet,  you 
know,"  Dolly  said  with  a  little  nervous  laugh. 
"Besides, — I  never  did." 

"  Never  did  what  ?  " 

"I  never  called  you  anything  but — Mr.  Shu- 
brick." 

"  Christina  did." 

"  Poor  Christina !  "  said  Dolly. 

"  Why  ?  "  said  the  other  merrily.  "  She  is  the 
rich  Mrs.  St.  Leger;  why  do  you  say  '  Poor 
Christina  ?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  I  have  come  between  her  and  hap- 
piness," Dolly  said,  blushing  frankly. 

"  You  have  no  occasion  to  say  that,"  Sandie  said 
laughing.  "  She  has  got  what  she  wanted.  There 
was  a  terrible  danger  that  she  might  have  come 
between  me  and  happiness.  But  for  her — I  am 
not  at  all  sure  that  she  would  have  been  happy 
with  me." 

"  I  remember,"  said  Dolly,  "  she  told  me  one 
time,  she  knew  she  would  not  'have  her  head'  so 
much,  if  she  were  once  married  to  you." 

"  She  would  not  have  approved  my  old  house, 


THIS  PICTURE  AND  THAT.  715 

either  "  said  Sandie  contentedly,  letting  Dolly  go 
that  he  might  put  up  the  fire,  which  had  tumbled 
down,  after  the  fashion  of  wood  fires. 

"  She  might  have  liked  it,"  Dolly  answered. 

"You  do?" 

"  0  very  much !  Aunt  Hal  and  I  think  it  is 
charming.  And  it  is  full  of  lovely  things." 

"  Wants  a  new  carpet,  I  should  say,"  said  Sandie, 
eyeing  the  threadbare  one  under  his  feet,  which 
Mrs.  Eberstein  had  objected  to. 

"  There ! "  said  Dolly.  "  Aunt  Hal  said  you 
would  never  know  what  was  on  the  floor.  I  told 
her  she  was  mistaken." 

"What  gave  her  such  a  poor  opinion  of  my 
eyesight  ?  " 

"  0  nothing, — it  was  not  of  your  eyesight — I 
don't  know,  unless  she  thinks  that  is  the  way  with 
men  in  general.  Uncle  Ned  had  brought  me  a 
present  of  a  beautiful  new  carpet  for  this  room, 
and  Aunt  Harry  wanted  me  to  have  it  put  down ; 
but  I  wouldn't  until  I  knew  whether  you  would 
like  it." 

"  Whether  I  would  like  it ! "  Sandie  repeated, 
rather  opening  his  eyes.  "  I  should  think  the 
question  was,  whether  you  would  like  it.  I  like 
new  carpets." 

"  I  did  not  know  but  you  might  have  some  affec- 
tion for  this  old  one,"  said  Dolly.  "  I  did  not  want 
to  change  the  look  of  the  room  before  you  came,  so 
that  it  would  not  seem  like  home.  Aunt  Harry  said 
I  would  spoil  you." 


716  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

':  What  did  you  answer  to  that? " 

•'  I  said  it  was  more  likely  you  would  spoil  me," 
said  Dolly  dimpling  up  and  flushing. 

"Do  you  think  I  will?"  said  Sandie,  taking  her 
hand  and  drawing  her  up  to  him. 

Dolly  hesitated,  flushed  and  dimpled  more,  and 
answered  however  a  frank  "No." 

"  Why  ?  "  was  the  quick  next  question. 

"  You  ask  too  many  things,"  said  Dolly.  "  Don't 
you  want  something  to  eat  ?  " 

"  No,  not  at  all !— Yes." 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  Dolly  laughing.  "  Come, 
then." 

She  put  her  hand  in  his  and  led  him  across  the 
broad  hall  to  the  dining-room.  And  during  the 
next  hour  Sandie  might  have  recurred  with  reason 
to  his  late  remark;  that  Christina  had  been  near 
coming  between  him  and  happiness.  The  care- 
less luxury  of  her  way  of  entertaining  him,  was 
in  strongest  contrast  to  the  sweet,  thoughtful, 
delicate  housewifery  of  his  wife.  It  was  a  con- 
stant pleasure  to  watch  her.  Tea-making,  in  her 
hands,  was  a  nice  art;  her  fingers  were  deft  to 
cut  bread;  and  whenever  the  hands  approached 
him,  whether  it  were  to  give  a  cup  of  tea  or  to 
render  some  other  ministry,  it  was  with  an  in- 
describable-shyness and  carefulness  at  once,  which 
was  wholly  bewitching.  Sandie  was  hungry,  no 
doubt;  but  his  feast  was  mental  that  night,  and 
exquisite. 

Meanwhile  he  talked.     He  gave  Dolly  details  of 


THIS  PICTURE  AND  THAT.  717 

his  voyage  home,  which  had  been  stormy ;  got  from 
her  a  full  account  of  the  weeks  since  she  had  set 
foot  on  American  ground;  and  finally  informed  her 
that  his  having  a  ship  was  certain,  and  in  the  near 
future. 

"  Poor  Christina  !  "  said  Dolly. 

"  Hush ! "  said  he  laughing  and  drawing  her 
with  him  back  into  the  other  room;  "you  shall  not 
say  that  again.  Would  you  like  to  go  to  Wash- 
ington? The  probability  is  that  you  will  have 
to  go." 

"  Anywhere — "  said  Dolly. 

.  They  stood  silently  before  the  fire  for  a  few  min- 
utes; then  Mr.  Shubrick  turned  to  her  with  a 
change  of  tone. 

"  Why  did  you  think  I  would  not  spoil  you  ?  " 

She  was  held  fast,  she  could  not  run  away;  he 
was  bending  down  to  look  in  her  face,  she  could 
not  hide  it.  Dolly's  breath  came  short.  There 
was  so  much  in  the  tone  of  his  words  that  stirred 
her.  Besides,  the  answer  —  What  came  at  last 
was, 

"  Sandie,  you  know  you  wouldn't !  " 

"  Reasons  ?  " 

"  Oh ! — reasons." 

"Yes.     I  want  to  know  the  reasons,  Dolly." 

In  her  desperation  Dolly  looked  up,  .one  good 
glance  of  her  brown  eyes;  then  she  hid  her 
face.  I  think  Sandie  was  satisfied,  for  he  asked 
no  more. 

"  Yes,"  he  said  presently.     "  I  love  you  too  well, 


718  THE  END  OF  A  COIL. 

and  you  love  me  too  well.  We  will  try  to  help 
each  other  up;  not  down.  Dolly,  I  would  not 
spoil  you  for  the  whole  world! — and  I  do  not 
believe  1  could  if  I  tried." 


The  lady  from  whom  this  story  comes,  remem- 
bers having  seen  Mrs.  Shubrick  when  she  was  a 
beautiful  old  lady.  Then  and  all  her  life  she  wore 
her  cable  watch  chain. 


END. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


LD-IM     -~ 

JJ.N  151985 


JAN  1  5 1' 


385 


Form  L9-Series  4939 


